She was unique in the way she spoke. Straight forward and yet in amusing riddles. She was cute in the strangest of ways, and her smile was one that didn't bring me in, but kept me at a safe distance. She was unique in the way she said her hi's and goodbye's. She would say my full name, give me a compliment, and then leave. And for some reason, that was all I could ever need from her. It's hard to admire her like I've admired others, for I think if I stare too long, I'll muddle the image of this amazing girl.

She was some kind of wonderful. She was some kind of breathtakingingly amazing. In the little known aspects of her, I loved every sentence in every chapter. Enough to reminisce when I'm lonely. Enough to base my hope off when I'm sad. She made me feel like some kind of wonderful. Some kind of wonderfully beautiful.

And yet, she is in her own sunny world. A trespasser in my rainy realm. I always wanted to hold out my hand in her time of spring, and bring her into my cold comfortable winter. But I am too weak both by society's standards and mine. I never know if I loved her. But the day she took me home, I swear she seemed so dreamy like.

Sometimes I question if she was really there.

Oh gardener of the soul. Do you smell of two lovers alone? The roses you planted are now intertwined, kissing only when the breeze blows.

Oh gardener of the mind. Do you smell of explosive happiness? The lilies you sowed into the ground are now blooming violently. Like explosions in July, they gather temporary admirers, if only for a day. If only for a moment. Making the loneliest of people smile at the defiant nature of these flowers in winter.

Oh gardener of the heart. Do you smell of copacetic feelings and romantic sunsets? The flowers you planted for your bouquet are now too beautiful to cut. Yet your lover's eyes twinkle at the snapdragons and peonies you so lovingly implanted into the ground.

Gardener of the universe. You planted gentle flowers and weeds atop my roof, they grew from the rain that you watered. They give me hope. They give me a sense of that my aching bones and ailing organs will serve as fertilizer for the flowers you grow. And I am okay with that.

Redemption.
In a way, the geode is a symbol of redemption.
On the outside, it looks as if it has nothing.
It looks as if it will never contain anything worth smiling over.
However, if one were to break the stone.
If one were to shatter it.
Force it apart.
One would find the shiny array of crystals within.
And in this way, we are all simple geodes.
Holding small complicated things inside.
But it's good.
It's good to be complicated.
For one day, someone will see you in all your complex and confusing contradictory glory.
And they will think that in this sense,
in this one instance.
That you are the most beautiful thing they will ever witness.