Outgrowing You

Written February 25th, 2024

This will come off aggressive, because I am passionate. How could I not be?

I am a living creature, and that means I am chasing growth and nutrients and development like the sun in the sky, stretching and reaching for the light wherever I can despite the wild weather.

I look to the sky and see rain and sun and moon and it all glows and glistens. I watch as you, my neighbor, my kin, go through similar weather and you absorb nothing.

The rain will soak your soil, and yet it stays soggy because you don’t absorb the good from the rainy days. The sun beams down, and you hide or reflect it away, too concentrated for your liking, too bright for the dreary soggy soil you sit in. You do not reach for the light, do not spread in search of better soil, you simply. Sit. And wait for the environment to change for you, without you.

How are you alive??? Barely from what you tell me, what worries me, what is normal to you. I am struggling to get enough sunlight for us both to survive, reaching high but crouching low to share. You take what I offer, but do not use it, let it spoil. This supposedly symbiotic relationship is deteriorating until I want to call it parasitism.

I do not know if I can continue to thrive near your damp soil, your rejection of growth and nature. I want to see you grow and blossom, but that only makes one of us. It is one too few.

I lament outgrowing you.