rose and concrete

How do we anticipate roses to grow from concrete? We do not, but it happens anyways.
Perseverance. The art of never giving up.
Uninhibited behaviour of trying. Every damn day. 
The hope that some day we will get away from here,
that the concrete doesn't have to weigh us down.
That although our flowers don't bloom just yet,
every day our roots are being grounded deeper and deeper.
Every book we read, every song we listen to,
knowledge, conversation,
the people who love us, the people who leave us,
the people who teach us,
make our roots reach out, like veins across our body.
Our blood stays warm although our skin is cold, and that's okay.
because eventually it will crack and the light can come in.
And we can get out.
Like a rose that grows from concrete.

Coffee bean.

I found myself at a coffee table, tasting the freshly brewed coffee and looking down into my cup I saw my reflection on the black surface with ripples. How could the taste of something so bitter and dark be so comforting on a morning and so refreshing? Why is it that something so easily masked with milk and sugar could still be cherished so well? 

I was stuck in between sips thinking of people as coffee beans. Each one so different, yet the purpose is still the same. Some need milk, others need sugar. Some can even be drank bitter. But the core art of coffee drinking is still the same. It's a caffeine boost to the soul of fatigue. Much like ourselves, coming in different types and forms yet our purpose is to find love and be loved. 

So I thought to myself the struggle of a coffee bean in a world filled with lattes and macchiatos, looked at so bitterly and dark. 

The coffee bean being all it ever can.