Wild Roses

I work another overnight shift. The one promised that I wouldn’t work again because it kills my social life. The route I run is through an old remodeled graveyard. It has beautiful and silent at 6 in the morning.  I felt my legs burn and something’s look good and perfect to my world again. It was like a hidden type of freedom.   

            So what if I couldn’t get to have much of a life but it gave me the chance to dive into new hobbies that kept me out of memory lane. But I was stopped dead in my tracks by the worm hole of memory lane. My delicate, solider boy.  The cement bridge that was home to various forms weeds and over grown grass was an odd thing on its own. But it wasn’t that that’d caught my attention but an out crop of wild roses I’[d never seen before.

            This area held so many memories for me and to make matters worse, I just simply felt bad for him. I never wanted to hurt him or anyone else. I think that’s why I took the cruel things he said to me with a grain of salt.  But it always stung a little, especially when the name calling begins. As I looked at this abandoned place, I had wished it had over grown.

            But no, everything still looked the same. Except for one tiny detail-  Wild pink roses grew in the same sport that I had sat only a year ago where I sat listening to him and this thoughts about life and I knew that it would have ended so soon.

            They say that the wild rose is the toughest of all roses. They say that they will take over but to me it’s a sign that even though I have shed many tears and wrestled with my demons, the true nature of the world will always a way. I reflected pver the last year remembering all the tears and a sense of guilt for being able to him through. I remembered sitting where those roses now resided, I felt as those roases had grown from the many tears I cried there.

            They were a gentle pink and open to find the sun. They had grown despite all the rain nad erosion that became their assassins. It’s then that the thought came across my mind. Wild roses need no license to be what they are, they will not bow and they serve as a reminder to me. I am not a bad person because bad things happen all the time and none of this is my fault.

            As I write this, I hear a storm rumbling with impending anger. But I’m not afraid because whatever the storm, I will survive  the like the wild roses and if heaven allows it I, woo will thrive.