When the Roots Remember

It’s hard to bloom again

when the roots remember the drought,

when rain feels like acid

instead of the new life needed to grow.

When the echo of connection

haunts the empty spaces,

when affection brushes the bed

where rejection once slept.

When the hand once held

was the same that let go,

when a bright love

turned to dust.

How can one bloom

when the bruises stay hidden,

when the past pulls one way,

the future another

and the present begs not to move?

When every want

echoes the same scream

that once begged for safety

but warmth now feels like a trick.

And just when chaos

settles into calm,

when the heart is ready to move on.