little tales

grow

her heart gaped open, a wound cut deep, deep into her. she fell into the grass below her, the blades freshly mown and leaving tiny, bloody lines in her hands. her dress had fallen in a crescent around her, and she felt beautiful as the moon on a cloudless night. yet she wept. for every ache in her body, mind, and soul, she wept into the dirt and felt the life around her partake of the salt and water. they drink, and i weep. oh, what a life. a low sun hung above her, and she willed the heat to fill the cavern in her chest, to bless her with respite. the sun obliged, and she felt the glow of it surround her, fill her, until it began to come off her hands in soft orange mists, and fall slowly into the ground. she tried to scoop it up, stuff it into herself, but the more she greedily took in, the more of it went cascading off of her. she watched as the ground around her slowly sprouted with new plants, the grass growing high above her, the weeds and wildflowers gathering up the light she stole from the sun. hungrily, she watched the greens sprout and tower above her, and angrily she began to pull it all up. how could they take from her what she was being given? the sun continued to feed her light, and the plants continued to take it away from her, and still her heart gaped open, that wound cut deep, deep into her. and she fell again into the grass, weeping, tired, and angry. she let her tears fall to the dirt, and watched the plants above her bud and bloom. stuck in this forest of her own making, aching, and filled with an intense sorrow, she went to sleep, and let the plants root into her bones, letting them steal the sun's warmth through her, for as long as the sun was alight.