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The Ferns I Loved
The Ferns I Loved
I mentioned earlier a previous love - she stole my heart - or dare I say I handed it to her - I was 47 at the time and I was in love as I had never been before. Too in love - my world was aflame with passion and I melted.
Eventually the end could no longer hide and I moved on.
We were still friends, this love and I, and she never completely closed the door - she kept me hanging for a long time - even without the warmth of her soft firm body to caress and lay next to - it used to be so easy to slip into the comfort of our relationship - the comfort of a companion you love with all that floats through our inner emotions - and forget the days trouble.
She always kept my heart warm with hope - but, I knew better - my hope only kept me company - that was all.
One day she bought me a couple of ferns for my apartment - this is a few months after our demise and I had moved away.
The ferns - I watered them and fed them - I pruned and cleaned them - they grew thick as I transplanted them to larger pots, gave them good soil and cared for them. They were beautiful. I had other plants in the home too, and though they did not receive the attention the ferns received - they too were healthy and beautiful - filling my home with life and color.
But as my alcoholism and depression continued to rack my soul - the ferns began die - and I had no longer the energy needed to keep them healthy. I had made a few attempts, but the effort was too little, too late.
As I watched them die I correlated their death with the friendship I had once shared with this woman who had briefly realized my dreams. I had put all that was available to me to keep us alive - healthy - but I got tired and though she continued to keep contact - I was rarely up to answering the phone, nor initiating the call. I knew our friendship was slowly dying and there was nothing I could do to save it - same as the ferns that I had once cherished as a symbol of our friendship - I was now watching them die and at the same time I was watching our friendship die.
Just as the ferns are still in my life as they hang from their place on the balcony, so is she still in my life as she calls once a week or so. And as sometimes I peak at the two pots of dead ferns to see if a miracle has happened and the spring rain has sprouted even a tiny corpuscle of new growth - I too occasionally return her calls, but mostly not.
Her and the ferns are connected now - they are both physically still in my life - til one day I replace the dead plants with new ones - and the cold coals of lost love with a new love that runs fresh like spring.
One day too, I suspect will not hear from my friend again. It will be a great loss - but now I have become numb to it and almost look forward to it’s arrival.
6/11/2006 9:19 pm
Hope is a wonderful thing. Don't think there is such a thing as imaginary hope. Hope is hope and it can get you through a lot of dark places...sometimes it can even keep you from seeing the dark, until you're past it and see it in retrospect and think, hey, I can't believe I walked through that place and made it out alive. Even if the hope didn't materialize into something else the way you thought it would it still had its purpose.|
I like hope. Harder to find hope than to find love, I think it is. Or maybe it is impossible to have one without the other. Whatever inspires hope within you, be grateful for it.