when i was seven, i wanted to give a boy flowers but my mom said,
no, that is not how these things work
i begged her please, let me send him a daisy
let me pick him a sunflower, let me buy him a rose

she said, no.

i said, okay. okay.

she said, why don’t you write him a card
i said, mom. that is not how these things work.
i said, i need something alive, something that grows so every time he sees it in a field or in a store, he thinks of the girl with too many freckles across her nose that don’t resemble anything like constellations. i need it to grow so that every time i see it in a field or in a store, i remember there are fields sprouting inside of me, rattling around with the wind of my breath. i need it to grow.

now i am nineteen and i don’t want to give flowers anymore

i want to say,
let me plant you a tree. let me plant you a forest for all the times my arms are too full or the wind is too cold. let me plant you a cherry tree, a willow, a maple - the perfect place to read billy collins and write novels. let me plant you a row of fir trees and you can sell them at christmas.

let me start a forest fire.

— Kelsey Danielle, “When Branches Need Leaves” (via pigmenting)