There are days when I wish for a quiet place with you, a quieter gaze at plants we have chosen to raise, nothing but their shades gaining weight, our palms heating each other. A quiet place devoid of time, where what gauges passage is growth, and the future is the cradle where fruit is borne, and it is love. Where we will be like plants, and the earth we have anchored in is each other, our hands intertwined like roots.