philophobia

i was still recovering, you know.
i had closed off my gate, and my white picket fence wouldn't open until i was done.
i planted new daisies, because they stole them all so they could wilt in a bad home.
i was fixing all my roses, spreading their flowers carefully by thumb.
i spread the ashes of my marigolds some place nice, just down by the river.
but then i saw you, walking on the path outside my garden. you were gorgeous. your hair had the very daisies i was looking for.
and your voice. gods, your voice. it made even my thickest of bushes unravel their leaves to listen. they don't do that to the sweetest music i can play.
i cleaned the rust off my iron latch. i opened up my white picket fence and let you step in. as soon as you did, i heard more marigolds blooming behind my cottage, where i keep them.

"some people have a fear of love."

- j