I felt it before.
It is a seedling.
Funny the perennial heart is—
no matter its experiences of hurt, it still finds the capacity to feel.
What is enchanting is its continual germination of love.
Fragile and immature it struggles to grow—to survive.
It is in its fight to bloom that I find myself crazy for you.
It can be said that it matters not if it flourishes or withers,
for at the height of its blossom,
love is a beautiful thing.
