Timing was everything. Ours was all off. Like a full meal served in front of her when she was too full to desire it. And yet when we met she seemed to hunger for what I offered.
She never hungered for my love. She always desired his. She let mine sit there piping hot for her, while she devoured him. Bit by bit she feasted upon his flesh and left me untouched as most children do with their vegetables. No matter how I was served to her, steamed or fried, the very idea of being served what was good for her killed the appetite.
Yet when the threat of losing her entitlement to my plate approached she protested. Yearned for my vitality and even claimed she was preparing herself to consume me. So there I lay, waiting for her lips to touch me. She stuck her fork in me to let me know I was done, removed it swiftly only to press her lips against my cheek before I bled. Knowing how much I yearn to be devoured she teased me with these half bites.
She just couldn't bear the idea of seeing me bleed, to be fair. She's used to his flesh, she doesn't realize yet that my kind does not bleed. She doesn't realize that when her fork pierces me I simply multiply. What was once a single sprout is now a man torn in two, torn between leaving and staying...whichever will put me back together again.
I am not flesh. I will not give her iron. I am plain, I am simple. I need only sunshine and water to grow; or so I thought. Months of reminding her I needed her sunshine to complement the rain already within me. I was wrong. Now I realize I was wrong. There was a time when I was right, when sunshine was my complement. Now, I do not have her warmth, and so now I do not hunger for it. Now, I simply need to be returned to the soil. Under the earth I need to be reborn. I need new roots for this dissected stem. I need to grow down before I can grow up. I need to add life to this death.
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