Full of thorny fervor swollen green with life, he took root in her overgrown garden’s heart. He scaled and weaved and interlocked, like a thick vine too stubborn to wilt or break or wither. Not even when the winter fought her way into his cells.

He never waited for rain. He waited for her. She would be the one to tend to him. Bring him hose water she collected in a shiny tin. And maybe by spring, he’d grow to be human again.














2 thoughts on “Tend

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