Roots

As you’ll lie on my chest, I’ll pray that you do not hear my cries. And as you’ll feel my heartbeat I’ll hope that you do not feel my pain. I’ll hope that my past remains an unfamiliar face, a person you would never had to have known. I will not wish for you, my very own blood, the same hand that I was dealt. I can not and will not will you the same fortune as I.

Though our roots run deep, I am happy to say that they will be torched. They will be cut and broken, and destroyed. I cannot allow you, my dear, to be apart of these roots. For you, I will plant a new tree. With beautiful, healthy, everlasting roots. After me, you will water this tree. And ensure that these roots remain healthy, a thing the ones before me never did.

But me, I will never forget the roots I will destroy. They serve a purpose way too meaningful. Clarity. Though they were detrimental, they had a beautiful quality in them, a particularly sinister beauty. Because the things that are ugly to the eye still hold a type of beauty in them, that is the way of nature. The beauty is the knowing, the newfound understanding. The beauty is the calm after the storm. I am the calm after the storm. The many storms that corrupted my tree. But what is meant to happen after a storm? Rebuilding.

So, for you and yours, I will rebuild. For the beautiful sake of you, I will ensure that your new tree will be better. Your tree will have a strong foundation so that it can withstand the storms, never compromising its roots. Never a need to rebuild. And you, and your line, will be nothing of mine. You will be rebuilt, anew, and so strong. The ones strong enough to break the chain.

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