i could be a garden, i think. i am overgrown; i am filled with green grass and trees and crawling with bugs and life. my heart causes the flowers to bloom and my lungs cast cool breezes or gusts of winds. the weather is up to my brain: some days could be thunderous and full of grey clouds, while others are colorful and warm.
people occupy the spaces inside of me. some run about, plucking tiny daisies from the ground, desperate to take home some of the beauty. i offer all i can, for i am desperate for company. but no one wishes to live inside a garden, they only wish to visit.
your visit was brief. you came at the end of summer. at first, i was blooming and beautiful. the sun was shining; the flowers were colorful. i was green with blue skies, and when the sun went down, i was painted orange and pink. sure, there were pesky mosquitos and rainy days, but the world was lovely and bright.
but then winter came.
the sky turned grey and all the pink petals fell. you walked through the grass, looked at the cloudy skies above you, and knew it was time to leave. you wouldn’t stay for long. who would? i turn cold and empty. nothing can survive inside of me.
besides, a storm was coming. you knew it was going to rain, and i wasn’t the beautiful garden you thought i was. i had nothing more to offer you.
i longed for the ability to let the sun shine down on you; i wished i could cast aside the clouds, turn off the thunder that was roaring. but summer had ended and my brain could no longer bring such warm thoughts.
the raindrops fell and as soon as you felt the drips on your shoulder, you left.
yes, i could be a garden. i am full of rosebuds and seeds; i am full of beauty waiting to be uncovered after a storm.