Gardening

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She kept planting anyway.

Planting for what?  For a garden only she would enjoy?  All she ever really wanted was to plant a garden for others, with others.  Perhaps the lesson here is —oh fuck it.

She’s lonely and tired of planting for herself, by herself.  Her garden is dying, unattended, she is exhausted from planting all on her own for so long.  Maybe she is using the wrong seeds, acidic soil, not enough sun, too much water…and there are weeds EVERYWHERE.

People expect beautiful things from that garden.  She expects that, too.  Yet, how is it possible to grow anything with all of those jacked up seeds, no water in sight and all those damn weeds?  How does she handle planting anything with this attitude?

She plants, she grows, she is vulnerable; they see her work, her ideas, her heart.  They leave.  They always leave.  And she is alone again, wondering why she gardens at all.

Could it be that she shamefully maintains a glimmer of hope in her seemingly hopeless pursuit of gardening?

She kept planting anyway.

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