The Weeds We Pull - Ch 1, Part 2

Some things you can’t weed out with your hands alone.

Hawaiian Garden, Photo by Marylee

Quinn feverishly began pulling weeds from their garden. As she worked, she started analyzing other past relationships that had gone wrong.

Quinn recalled the painful pattern of many past friendships. Ridden with sudden departures, each silent treatment left her bewildered and heartbroken, questioning her worth and the nature of her love.

The long-ago memory of her closest friend’s inexplicable silence during her darkest hour when her father was dying still stung, a wound easily reopened with each passing year.

Quinn’s silent tears rolled down her face and fell on the fresh earth where she kneeled. She shivered as she recounted the ache of abandonment and the lingering questions that haunted her to this day.

As she tended to the garden, the physical act of pulling weeds mirrored the emotional labor of confronting past hurts. Quinn grappled with the complexities of forgiveness and closure, wondering if letting go meant sacrificing her own needs for the sake of others.

The concept of unconditional love, once an unquestionable gift of trust, now felt like a burden too heavy to bear. Quinn wrestled with the notion of selflessness versus self-preservation, unsure where to draw the line between loyalty and letting go.

As always, working with the earth and her garden calmed her. Still, with a heavy heart and a sense of disillusionment weighing her shoulders, Quinn began formulating a plan to pack her suitcases and head to the mainland, where she knew her best friend, Riley, would welcome her with open arms.

Quinn wiped the dirt from her hands. There was only one thing left to do.

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