It’s funny in a way.
Normally, I would have planned it just so.
Someone to nurture.
Someone to water.
While I was away.

But I guess in someways, I couldn’t offer it.
Couldn’t care enough for it.

So now we’re back.
And it’s over run.
Run a muck.

Creepers twirling.
Passion fruit vines, crushing the curry leaves.
Tomato-less tomato trees sprawling over the concrete.
Dried, dried leaves.
Dead as they droop.

And I look at them and am reminded.
Of my lack of desire to nurture.

Where I was once so attentive, we had herbs and chillies, alive and tomatoes ripening in the sun.

I’m now barren in a way.
Nothing to give.
Nothing to slay.