I know we have a lot of differences. I know that. What I also know is that my soul is still a home for your soul, and this is how you’ll always be able to tell - I’ve planted a garden for you. I’ve taken every drop of tenderness, patience, understanding, and spark of light between us and hidden them away in the soil. As winters come and go, I hope the perennials I’ve planted for the hidden parts of yourself give some sweetness to your life.
I planted them to draw out your essence, your sweet, wild raccoon soul. I know the parts of you that wander, that test and push, that menace and impend, and I don’t fear them. I love them, and I adore you with them in mind. I planted those perennials to remind you that every part of you is lovable, especially the parts that scare and confuse most others. I planted that garden in our home as a reminder that the parts of yourself you compromise and negotiate away in order to be loved by others are the parts that make me love you, day after day.
Those immortal blooms will always be there, inciting those most untamed parts of you to come out and play. And when the unfulfilled claims of your wild mind and soul press against you, perhaps you may see what I meant when I’ve asked you to come home. I have space for you, for those unfulfilled claims and their growth, for your process in learning to love and express them. I have so very much space for you, and you’d never have to negotiate parts of yourself away again, if you’d only come home. The home in my heart is the sunshine which would call those perennials to blossom, even in what may look and feel like barren land, even if we may be in the dead of winter now. Those perennials will find their way back to the surface if you let the sunshine back in.
And if I can’t give you that warmth now, or perhaps ever again in this lifetime, at very least accept this gift.
I love you so much.