unknown yet

It started small. I hardly noticed it was there. I tucked it away, hoping nothing would come of it. But then— as all stubborn things do it grew. Not gently. Not politely. It spread like wild kudzu, until one day it grew weeds in my soul. It’s like an unkept garden— beautiful, but terrible, comfortable, inviting, and painful all at once. I sometimes wonder if she feels the same, if she too has a garden, or even a single weed growing in her. But then I feel helpless, realizing what a fool that wondering makes me. So I endure, the weeds thickening each day, wrapping tighter, beautiful and painful. I endure— too afraid to reach for them, too afraid to pull them free, and yet, I can’t stop planting new seeds.