April 21, 2009
I feel the pain bloom like a deep red rose. As it builds to a crescendo, I imagine the petals unfurling, one by blood red one, each with a sharp point. The roots feel as if they are digging deeper. The flower reaches upward, outward, as if toward the sun, all the petals singing with suffering in painful unison. Then, gradually, the petals fold in, the pain slowly decreasing as they furl their leaves in toward the center, ready for the next time, starting, ending, starting the cycle, over and over again. There will be no end, until there is.