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It was a fight.
Of course it was. It was always going to be. The callouses that bruised your skin from the moment you were born promised your nursery would only be a bloodied pit.
Somehow, like a seed carelessly left in the earth, you knew which way was up, and you fought to reach towards it.
You dug yourself out of a grave few could imagine leaving; spit out the acid that ran through the mud; wrapped your roots around whatever ungrateful scraps were left behind by those privileged enough to walk all over you without ever questioning your agony.
It was a fight; but eventually, you reached the sun.
You realized you were alive, somewhere along the way. You weren't sure exactly when it happened— when you went from surviving to living. Was it when you saw him again? When you watched the sun rise over something— someone— you could call home? When you could fly, without a cavernous ceiling to stop you?
You never stopped fighting. If you were going to have anything— food, shelter, another day, a future to dream for— you were going to fight for it. But this time, somehow, it was different.
Maybe it was when you finally reached the surface. Maybe it happened in a moment so lively, you hadn't noticed. Maybe it was gradual, like a wound becoming a scar boasting a proud story that proved you made it.
The when didn't matter. You were alive now because you were together. That's celebration enough.
You grew. Even when Icarian instincts sought to punish you for flying too high, too fast, too thoughtlessly; you had something to live for. Something to claw out of a new grave for. Something to fight for.
It was a fight; but you're a stubborn bastard determined to win.
Somehow, you found yourself again; found yourself living again; found yourself living beside him again.
You bloomed. Sickly green gave way to bursting color. Maybe it was the sunset made brighter by a life reclaimed. Maybe it was the rain heralded by the eyes of the only storm that mattered. Somehow, a stubborn vine found its flowers.
Most people didn't see you claw through the rock and earth just for a chance to live under the sun; they won't question how you got here. It just happened. To them, a life like this is as inevitable as the death you all now face.
To others, a silent prayer answered.
The petals are soft; burning at the edges, indefinably intertwined until the beginnings and ends are just the syllables of the same whole promise wrapped in three simple words.
Stems twine around each other like a cord— not fighing against each other, but pushing each other higher— reaching for the same bright hope hanging in the sky. Like an Aspen— two trees on the surface, but underground is one collection of roots carving through stone to hold you both up.
So long as there is a light, there is a way to reach it.
So long as you are alive, you will find a way to fight.
So long as you are together, you will carve out a path to victory.
So long as he is here, flowers will grow, and it is eternity.