I will grow daisies for him, up and through the ground, though I have always been fond of lilies. The soft gentle touches of the earthworms over my skin are a comfort, wiggling fingers that breed sensations against skin that unwittingly turns the color of bleached cobalt.

…

It is not such a bad existence, however, feeding the earth. Truly I could ask for no better purpose than to become a garden, for at least a garden is free to love the air, the wind, and the rain…

~excerpt from a dark but beautifully written story by a dear friend of mine.

(my main artistic influence is rather more glaring in this one than I expected. Ah well…it happens.)