Girl who Loved a Weed
Once upon a time there
was a Girl who fell in love with a weed.
The Girl was quite pretty
and very talented, but she had a jagged hole in her heart. Every
morning she would wake up with lonely sigh and wish that someone
would whisk her away to a place where romantic spiky demons would
fill her hole with what she thought was love.
The Girl stumbled upon
the Weed one Thursday while she was searching for happiness. The
Weed grew long and gangly from some noxious patch of mud, and was
only immediately noticeable due to his great size and ugliness.
Having found nothing else of interest, the Girl sat down and began
to chat with the weed. Surprise, surprise. As weeds go, this one
was exceptionally bright, in a weedy sort of way. He slyly observed
her capable watering hands, and swaying most charmingly, expounded
on breathtaking ideas that made the Girl tingle. Indeed, the Weed
was not altogether unpleasant. The Girl, having found something
-- anything -- fell deeply in love.
Several Thursdays later,
the girl's mother, a bitter, world famous gardener, was introduced
to the girl's new hunk. "It's a weed!" immediately exclaimed
the mother. The Girl burst into tears and yelled back, "You've
never loved me!" Old habits have never been a friend of common
sense. The mother, in fact, loved the daughter deeply. She left
silently, her ancient shield of bitterness no match for her daughter's
rejection. From then on the Girl was completely alone with her weed.
As time passed, the Girl
began to dream of marriage and children. Not because she thought
these things were good, but because they were signs that she would
never be alone again. She mentioned the ideas to the Weed and the
Weed made little comment. "I am a weed," he would explain.
"A very bright Weed destined for greatness. If I sit here long
enough, I shall become something marvelous; the most amazing Weed
you've ever seen." Rebuffed, the Girl felt like she was a selfish
despicable creature. Though normally a strong willed person, she
began tucking bits away of herself that didn't agree with the philosophy
of her lover. Her internal chasm grew wider, but predictably, the
weed's gangly charismatic presence slipped in to fill the space.
She watered the weed,
and he grew fat as he continued to wait, and wait, and wait for
greatness. Their relationship fell into a particular rhythm and
she felt something not quite like happiness. At night she dreamed
of laughing boys and girls prancing in the moon light, and in the
morning the sin nibbled daintily away at her soul.
The Weed slowly came
to realize that the Girl still wanted something more of him. On
a dismal gray morning he confronted her with his thought,"I
think I've figured you out. You still want me to stop being
a weed. Screw you. Go away."
The Girl's world was
shattered as all her hidden fantasies came tumbling down in a single
moment of awkward reality. The Girl whispered, "But...but you
are the center of my life. I will do whatever it takes to keep you,
even if it means accepting you as a weed." And she watered
Satiated, the Weed felt
a twinge of guilt at his outburst. After several months of philosophizing
and the occasional tear, the happy couple was once again reunited.
"Surely," thought the Weed, "she must realize that
though she is fairly nice, my future is more important?"
The Girl buried her dreams
ever deeper, hopelessly thankful that she wasn't alone.
Time passed, and the
girl's consuming vacuum wrenched and fractured all that was good
inside. Luckily, she never questioned why her ideal life made her
miserable. The Weed meandered on until one day a blight came and
wiped out all the weeds in the neighborhood. He died having never
been more than a weed. The girl, after a period of mourning that
never quite ended, became a bitter gardener remarkably like her
world famous mother. . She would stare at the picture of the Weed
on the greenhouse wall, and eyes glistening, would repeat her mantra,
"Thank you. Thank you for everything good in my life."
Years later she died as well, having reached a rarified state that
still was not quite happiness.
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