Tuesday, 3:50 p.m.   How A Plant Must Feel When mapping out the plant, no one ever includes the soul. There is the roots, the leaves, the stems, the vascular systems, the other large technical terms I can't remember right now, and then there is the soul. But no one remembers the soul. Maybe plants don't have souls, but they are alive. They Might. Maybe only people have souls. I think that would be sad. I think everything alive has a soul, I think that's what makes it alive. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe a soul is just a personality, the way something thinks and reacts to things, so only organisms with nervous tissues and brains can have souls. But assuming plants do have a soul, it must be located somewhere in the roots. Because all the nutrients are taken from the soil, right? And the root grows and has long roots and short roots and thick roots and thin roots and little teeny tiny hairy roots. The plant's soul can be located in all of that. You know how when you transplant a plant, you can't take all of the soil that it grew in and that it is attached to with it on most occasions. And no matter how carefully you try to get every last teeny tiny root hair, some bits and pieces of root are bound to break and get lost in the soil, lots even. So part of the plant's soul is still in the soil in which it grew up and lived it's life in, and the plant itself is in unfamiliar territory. It is alive but a lot of times it isn't all there until it's been living in it's new home for a while and its roots grew back. It must hurt to have pieces of your soul ripped out of you. It must be sad to leave the soil in which you grew up in. I know how you feel, little plant. I get to come back. And have all my new soil left there and more roots that I spent months regrowing ripped off again and I get to come back and see the shriveled pieces of my soul, dead and useless in the soil that was mussed but now is back to normal for the most part, and dig myself another hole to be planted into and then wait for time to heal me, even though everything is changed and the soil's Ph system is slightly off and I'm choking to death. Oh well. Soon I'll get used to it and I'll survive no matter what, no matter how hard it is. Oh well. ----------------- 5:14 p.m. It will kill me when we break up. I wish we didn't have to. I love you. I love you more than I ever thought I could. I pray things turn out for the best. I pray the best is you. To: That Other One I think I made you up ----------------- 6:18 p.m. This is Not About who you think it is. Snowflake Love Is melty and short-lived Is beautiful and invigorating Is worth its second of my life. And I'll miss my snowflake. I meant to be distant and cold So my snowflake Unique, beautiful snowflake Wouldn't melt. And I'll always love my snowflake. I couldn't help it I'm attracted to beauty. My snowflake loved me back. Snowflake Love Never lasts long Never goes away Never is regretted And I'll miss my snowflake. I never meant to embrace it Now my snowflake Fragile, tiny snowflake Is gone. And I'll always think of my snowflake. I can't help it I'm attracted to love. My snowflake thought I was beautiful too. This IS about who you think it is. It is a shame The petals of This Rose are shriveled When they were once velvet and soft They are aged and like that An old woman's face. But it's beautiful anyway. And you're always beautiful. We're only young once And We only have one life. I am a match And you are the box And someone struck me against you And now I burn Until I die. It is a good burn And warms everyone And lights other candles And it's thanks to you. Your fault. And I love you. I'm burning for you Thank you my matchbox.