This time of year, I think of the mornings when I wake up next to you. 

The sun shines through my window as your curls fall atop your eyes, 

Your cheek pressed against my pillow, 

Your mind in a tranquil state before your eyes flutter open. 

The sun wakes you despite your trying to fight it. 

The sun is grateful for this battle 

For even if your frustration grows, it is a rare privilege to be near you—to merely engage with you. 

Perhaps the sun’s jealousy vehemently brews as I feel the weight of your warm skin grow heavy. 

It is one with mine. 

Your body clutches me for comfort, 

For protection, 

Before being forced to wake. 

The feud turns to a dreamscape before you turn your head to face mine, 

Greeting me with your smile. 

In this moment, I watch your mind expose me. 

My vulnerabilities, 

My secrets, 

The calluses on my heart. 

On this spring morning, you see me as a flower to inspect, as someone to discover and uncover. 

You curiously, cautiously peel back the petals to unveil my pistil. 

For while I bloom, I am a delicate being. 

I am not the garden of your dreams, but the garden of your reality. As you trail through the fluffed green bushes, 

You see roses with wilted petals, 

Tulips praised by the public yet still barely aged buds, 

And lilies in their fullest form. 

The lily leaves caress your palms 

The roots kiss your soles after each step you take. 

With your eyes bergrudely open, 

Your lips softened,

You have realized the pricks of my thorns and sung hymns to my core—my bright pistil—as if I am the prophet you pray to. 

The prophet that you study each night before bed, 

The one that holds your attention, even just in passing.

My floral nature is symbolic of the rebirth and resurrection of the season, my holiness prevailing through the grievances of the winter but uplifted and eulogized with your touch on these early mornings.

And through this inquiry, 

The sun still stares through the window. 

We hear its cries for us to embrace it the way it embraces you. 

Instead, you use it to light this garden—allow it to aid your vision. 

Your eyes stay locked on my flowers that flourish while they cover the roses that have wilted. 

The sun begs for you, but you remain steadfast in your conviction that only this garden is worthy of your attention, 

your love, 

your fervent curiosity.