I Need to Start a Garden
I've always wanted to know what it was like to run away. Running away to Rome —did he find what he was looking for? Did she love louder, and feel a little lighter? Packing my bags and going to Paris. Was it always this easy? Was life always that bright? As I sit still in a seat on my flight back I wonder how this memory will feel like years later. I cry for the girl I’ll be, and I’ll cry for the girl who was. This twisted and wicked concept of time is something that I’m still trying to hold onto. Like how is it that two Junes ago I hated the sun and now it’s all I wish to see? It’ll pass they say—and now I’m in it. I’m currently in the cosmic wave of change. Once placed in a bottle sent back to the ocean, the glass has shattered and I’m on my way to the city lights. I remember “We’re changing—” and I was sad and broken, accompanied by a blue girl. But now I am whole and things are rising—like warm croissants, rich with yeast and drizzled with honey. I know what I want to write about but I’m still finding myself staring at a pink wall during dawn. I was supposed to fight, meant to care—but the trunk of the tree has been cut. It’s simply carved—a part of history, and it’s dried out long enough to be as immobile and dead-ended as the sign back in town. I was supposed to know you and now I couldn’t care less. I wanted to love you but I can’t bring myself to hear a voice I no longer remember. I hear the birds and open up with the sun. I love my friends and the way they notice, care, laugh and cry. An established routine, a committed heart and a mouth no longer dying of thirst. No more comparing scars before dinner, things are summer and I can finally remember. A warm cookie, watching my dad chase my sister out the door to kiss her on the cheek—such a silly thing for me to forget. That these things, too, make my heart feel full of stars. Because love always remains. And isn’t that such a phenomenal thing?
