Sometimes the truth takes time to reveal itself, like the sun rises slowly under the horizon, like the vine unfurls over its trellis as it discovers its own environment, like the flower petals unfold at dawn.
Twisted Gardens: A Short Short Story
Meri wanted to tell someone that the best moments of her graduation weekend were in the garden. The two times in the garden stood out like cover pages marking the start and end, or bookends holding together the weekend which was otherwise a whirlwind of visits, small talk, and drinking.
First, that Friday afternoon when she arrived. Meri’s first stop on campus was the gardens, where she met her friend, Henry, who was still a student. They talked about the changes at the University, and in the world, since the global pandemic. She felt romantic in this setting, which can be natural in such a beautiful environment. The brightness of her surroundings - the bright green flying off the grass, the golden light seeping through the tree branches and speckling the ground, even the early autumn flowers - were all distractingly vibrant.
She did carry with her this sense that the whole city was romantic that weekend. This was because they were celebrating something that had previously been denied due to circumstance, and because her hope was strong like the tide, it was what carried her through months and months of isolation. Among her many hopes was one that her romantic interests would finally clear up with the gradual lowering of the pandemic’s safety guardrails.
Most likely, though this weekend felt romantic simply because the weather was perfect for every occasion. This delayed graduation in September exceeded her expectations in many ways. It almost could not have been more perfect, except that it could have been more perfect in one very important way. Her feelings toward a friend had gotten carried away from her, carried too far beyond the perimeter of their friendship. She thought that those feelings might have been reciprocated, that they could meet each other at the gate.
She was mistaken and his silence was a sign. At the end of the weekend, they met in the gardens. She found his eyes intense and unfamiliar, although she had known him for a few years. That should have been the first sign, though she had never experienced this before. She felt that they both weren’t great at making eye contact. Or at least he wasn't with her. Maybe he shied away from her interest, though this made it increasingly hard for her to read him. She figured that he was either not interested, or more emotionally distant than her, or as unsure as her. She had to cross a channel within herself because the curiosity was overwhelming her.
She left feeling a bit ridiculous and wondering how could she feel so misled and so wrong, when she has otherwise known her intuition to be right. It was a disappointment, but ultimately something to learn from. Those gardens felt twisted to her for the first time that day, but she found her way out again.
She learned that she did not want her curiosity at the helm when it comes to these interpersonal and romantic relationships, rather she put trust at the forefront. Trust that people will show you who they are and what they want, and hope that they will, with clarity.
I’ve recently re-learned that my love is deep and intense. I find that it must be natural for there to be a level of intensity to love, this indescribable dimensionality of love; love isn’t just happiness, it's also sadness, grief, pain, birthing. Letting go can be love. Building can be love. Revisiting can be love. Moving on can be love. All this can be done in love.
I moved on from my younger girl’s fear that she would not get what she always hoped for. I had to move on from that in order to get what I wanted, what I still want. I had to release that fear through water - happy/sad/fearful/grateful tears. That is an intense blend of emotions that makes me ponder love’s extensive expanse.
Those six weeks, I was watering the plants, creating a fine mist for my morning. I was thanking the water which lets itself ‘fall’, like how we ‘fell’ in love, then it takes place, like we took place, naturally. Then, this water peacefully evaporates from the ground and rises, as our choice to love one another continues to expand and grow.
The first two weeks were the toughest for me. I was occupying my body and my mind; balancing the movement between waking and sleeping states, seeking clarity. These last two weeks, I’ve been tracking the animals that cross my path: a baby shark, three dolphins, hundreds of dragonflies, and a silver tarpon leapt clear out of the water.
Since our engagement, I’ve been balancing the scales between friends’ opinions and what they mean, between preferences and caring. Since we were apart, I was counting grains of salt and days of weeks until I see you again.
This week, I’ve been so grateful to be present with you.
Rabbit Rabbit -
Wishing you a great start to September.
Merci for reading.
sincerely,
Beautiful