where the wild flowers grow
"What's so amazing about me?"
"Well, you're intelligent beyond your years, and you write amazing poetry."
"That's hardly amazing."
"You're right, but it's amazing to me."
"I don't find you amazing."
"You're just human."
"So are you."
"I know, far too well do I know. This is why I am hardly amazing. In retrospect, you and I are alike in everyway. So are you and that tree."
"Whichever one you feel closest to, I guess."
"What makes a tree alike to me? I don't have branches."
"Well, you have arms."
"You're a funny human."
This is love, isn't it? A conversation is nothing with names and faces. I thought to myself, I could not respond.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm not thinking anything."
Blatent lie, but how would he know?
It was cold, we'd been outside, and the window had been opened by some unknown source.. or I'd just not closed it from months before. I saw lightning in the distance, but nothing close enough to cause fear. I knew somewhere it was flooding, and the flood was calling to me. I heard him breathing, thinking, waiting for me to say something..anything.
Then, he spoke,
"I wish you were amazed by me like you used to be.."
"You know there's no way for me to respond to that."
"You're amazed by the trees.."
"I'm enamoured, not amazed, now be quiet and close your eyes."
"No, I won't.