It isn’t just for gnome men or even just for gnome girls it’s more for things like cucumbers with tendrils and their curls. It is a place of wonder, of feasting, and for fun. A garden is a utopia when the growing is done.
I am a turbulent wind blowing and moving and seeing no end in sight. I am a raging fire burning with no ability to put the hot flames out. I am an ocean full of tears with no way of measuring how much water exists. I am an empty, broken eggshell with no way of getting put back together. I am a gray boulder sitting and waiting for someone to move me to a new place. I am also a bird flying free, without restrictions, able to make my very own decisions. I am still here, although alone, with memories being my only reminder.
Camille sat and watched the monitor. With each blip and tick, evidence of life was displayed on the screen. She wasn’t sure how long she sat, watching the lines, but knew it was doing no one any good to fixate and watch the squiggles, not sure what to be watching for.
It had been two full weeks of this. In and out of consciousness, awareness to complete loss in moments. Was it the medication or the body dictating the continuous beat of the heart? She would only know what was in her heart, hoping he wanted to live, knowing death would be easier.
So, there she sat, hoping for a future, moments caught between heart-beats, hoping that the will to live would dominate. Unfortunately, at this point she may never know. Words are no longer easy to hear, through the pounding in her chest.