moonflower

Recently I planted a moonflower.
Bloody hard to grown in these lands.
But worth it.

This plant only blooms two months a year. And only at night.
Each bud, only once.
I knew those flowers would be dead by morning, and the next night, new buds would blomm, and then they would die.
In three weeks, this entire plant will be dead.
And in the spring, I’ll have to plant a whole new moonflower.

That’s a lot of work for a flower that only blooms once.
And that’s what people feel like to me.
Exhaustive effort.
Very little to show for it.
All of them. Especially me.

So, I figured I’d save you some effort.
Skip to the end.
Take a shot.
Why not?

When I was a little girl I start gardening. Busy work for idle hands.
But I fucking love it.
Love it.
And it’s so clear then how people aren’t worth it.
But plants…
you pour your love, and your effort, and your nourishment into them
and you see where it goes.
You watch them grow, and it all makes sense.

So, yeah.
Everyone is exhaustive.
Even the best ones.
But sometimes
once in a blue goddamned moon, I guess
someone, like this moonflower, just might be worth the effort.

I’ve been struggling for a long time now. I know I’m carrying this guilt arround, but I also know that I don’t decide who lives and who doesn’t’.
Humans are organic. I’ts a fact.
We’re meant to die.
It’s natural. Beautiful.
And it all breaks down and rises back up, and breaks down again, and every living thing grows out of every dying thing.
We leave more life behind us to take our place.
That life refreshes and recycles, and on and on it goes.
And that is so much better than that life getting crushed, deep down in the dirt, into a rock that will burn if it’s old enough.
So much better to see the leafling
and flower.

We leave more life behind to take our place.
Like this moonflower.
It’s where all its beauty lies, you know.
In the mortality of the thing.