Oh self, gardener of mistakes. The trees I planted grew sideways, giving shade only when I need it, never when I want. Oh her, gardener of nervous hearts. The tiny little buh-bump, buh-bumps of the night haunt my mind. But they leave me thinking she's got countless petals and seeds trespassing in me. And I am still learning if I should embrace them in the soil, Or if I should dig them up before I get too attached.
I'm trying to figure out whether or not I'm in love.