A few years ago, I decided to try my hand at something completely new.
I picked out a small plot of land and made a little clearing.
In that clearing, I carefully planted a few little seeds.
After a few weeks of constant vigilance, life started to grow in my garden.
It was small, but it was beautiful.
It made me excited.
It made me happy.
As with most gardens, a few weeds sprouted here and there.
At first, I was diligent in removing the weeds.
However, after a short time of neglect, they became bolder, more plentiful.
I couldn't keep up, so I decided that a few weeds were okay.
I told myself that they were natural.
I said the weeds were pretty.
I even photographed in them ;-).
I even photographed in them ;-).
Eventually, I could no longer see my garden.
I had actually forgotten what I had planted there.
The weeds had taken over.
There were too many.
The weeds became the garden.
I didn't want to go to my garden anymore.
So I started to visit other gardens.
Their gardens were so well-maintained.
They had the prettiest blooms.
They had the best-smelling flowers.
Even the bees liked other gardens more than mine.
I didn't want to visit other gardens anymore.
I'm a terrible gardener.
Gardening sucks.
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But I still like flowers.
I miss my flowers.
I wish I could dig up all of those old weeds and see those flowers again.
Maybe I should.
Ugh, but there's too many.
I can't even face it.
What if I just pull one?
Just one.
Hmph.
That wasn't too bad.
Didn't make much progress though.
Tomorrow, I'll pull another one. Maybe two. I can do three--no, four.
If I can keep this up every day for just a week, I might find what I loved again.
Maybe.
Weeds aren't that pretty after all.
