Eden, like the garden

Eric Charles, Contributing Writer

Adelaide Basco | Art Director

There is a place where one must travel to find love. This is not a home. It is a secret garden: constructed by knobby hands, hidden from unknown antagonists. I’ve been gone for a year, returned, then left again. A special person has an everlasting place in my heart. She’s within hundreds of miles. A friend has my best interest at heart. He’s an arm’s-length away.

Nature takes time to nurture its people, people who trade energy for health. Interactions symbolize the garden’s richness of exotic and ordinarily ripe fruit; abusive conversations aren’t fed from these nutrients. These students have eaten government-provided foods exalting horrific behaviors. Growth happens after befriending someone in need. I’ve walked further than I intended with efforts to keep an established bond.  I decided to uproot this friendship of withering roots that failed to sustain its purpose. The possibilities she planted has enriched soil. Through these roots she will rejuvenate my soul. It is through these roots that we will meet again.

I’m optimistic for an elderly life with her. It’s worth a shot but distracts his incapable ideas. The instinct to cultivate is daunting to others. He never understood futuristic ideologies, or rather planned only to execute simple concepts. There were no guides to enforce the freedom of will, only militant methods.  Friends never responded to his cries for help. He never requested attention from loved ones. He desired isolation. A transparency shared. She never forgot a celebration, or an anniversary of everything we’ve accomplished. She’s my lover. He is my friend. The two never met, and life seems to dissolve them. I’m drained. to prosper a relationship timing discerns, patience collapses my emotions. He consuls me, evaluating moral reasoning to expand thoughts that I deserve more than she’ll offer. I fail to appear in two locations simultaneously, but he will never understand. He has never been loved. Narrow spaces, and closed gaps make him uncomfortable; running away from beauty, when in need of discovery.  He hides behind a rock covering false hope. The hints to expel himself into a world where love waits at his fingertips is unrealistic. It takes sacrifice to find genuine friends; people that are aware of your energy, adoring its radiance.

I’ve spent hours staring at a pond, only for her to appear with oxidized water at the last moment. Waves of fragrance distinguished her in passing; several opportunities provided a chance for entanglement, but I hardly reached. I cringe, visualizing other stems growing closer. She was willing to produce beautiful seeds, maturing into plants. I needed a storm, but received a warm front.  Creativity was my direct sunlight. She happened to blossom from indirect sunlight. Honesty became our bond, and trust expanded our age together. It’s sad he never felt this passionate towards someone, or something. I can’t pluck him like weeds. He is an extension of myself. The garden continues to grow.

In life, hold onto relationships far away until they’re ready to blossom, while cultivating the ones nearest to you.

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