I think I swallowed a seed

I think I swallowed a seed. It must have been years ago, for that is when the aching began. One day, my body began to keel over, reeling with a thumping pain. Like dye infiltrates the color of water, my pain began to ripple all throughout. The seed had sprouted. Within the layers of flesh and bone lay a poison I could not remove. Would my bones begin to shatter? I searched for a method to remove the source of my distress. I’d purge and pace and ponder, and then do it at all over again. When people proved unhelpful, I turned to the trees to soothe my weary soul. The trees could only do so much, so I sat by the stream. I’d dream of the days my limbs would run outstretched under the beating sun. The stream swiftly caught my tears as I remembered a time when my body had not yet betrayed me. Oftentimes, solely breathing offered me the consolation I needed. What could be done for my young body breaking? My malnourishment and strain had caught up to me. The body is resilient, I was told, and so I began to nourish what had been starved and rest what had been stressed. Day by day, my strength returned and my body became my own again. No longer do I wonder when or how I swallowed my seed of sorrow. I think it is still there.