Anya, I am a being empty of love.
I have never been connected to the deep feelings, the beating heart interconnected of all things. I have never felt love.
I have loved my parents, shallowly, and hated them just as shallowly. Both feelings are washed away now by the rain that never seems to fall here, but which I felt through my body deep and sure.
I put down roots, Anya. I sunk my feet into the ground and put out roots, twining and tendriling in the ground, and for a glorious forever instant I was connected to the heart. I felt everything. Feet in earth, sun in leaves, the sheer joy of it all was unbelievable.
In that instant, I felt everything, Anya. I felt the feelings of the bees buzzing languidly, the innocent joy of the children on the playgrounds, the heartbreak of a couple ending on the other side of this earth. I felt what it is to be a plant, Anya.
Sabrina was the one who saved me from putting down roots forever. She pulled my feet out of the ground, and that is why I am writing to you now about the feeling of roots.
I want, Anya. For the first time I can see the future beyond tomorrow, and I know what I want. I can see a glorious future that I could have, and I want it all.
Sabrina. She’s here as I write, watching me closely over a bowl of cold cereal. She doesn’t know yet, but I can see her in this future of mine. Endless golden summers laughing over laundry, growing old in the twilight of a sunset – I want it all for us, Anya, and I think we can have it, Sabrina, the house and me.
Anya. It isn’t too late. You still have the fruits, and fruits have seeds.
I happen to know that the second fruit, the hollow one, is particularly good for planting roots.