a small heartbreak

the poem, originally written and shared on my Instagram story (@katherineconaway)

sometimes you see someone with a little piece of earth. they call you over & you think, perhaps. so you pull out a seed of a dream and plant it together, fingers working to give it a home. and as it takes hold, you can’t take your eyes off of it — the magic of hope and possibility is enchanting. you see it sprout, your work is rewarded, life is beautiful. and then.

then an utterly unexpected sliver of truth slices through & the bloom goes black. you reach for the petals, trace the veins to the root — well planted and nourished with the best intentions, now rotted through. and your saltwater tears won’t revive what’s so suddenly and thoroughly and horribly died.

so you leave your failed fledging garden and start to walk away, tucking your seeds away somewhere safer, because you’re back in this big wide world alone & you wonder where you went wrong to think you could ever grow anything with anyone — but why not you, anyway?

and every flower you see is a reminder of all your black blooms. and it feels impossible to imagine that you will ever grow your garden.