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“The garden stretches out before us, every leaf a promise, every flower a quiet rebellion. I remember when we planted the first seed, its smallness fragile like hope. Now, the tomatoes hang heavy, bright with the fullness of summer, and I wonder if we’re not so different from them. How many seasons of patience did we need. How many days did we water the soil with regret until love finally bloomed.” — Maimoona Abidi
The garden stretches out before us,
every leaf a promise,
every flower a quiet rebellion.
I remember when we planted the first seed,
its smallness
fragile like hope.
Now, the tomatoes hang heavy,
bright with the fullness of summer,
and I wonder if we’re not so different from them.
How many seasons of patience did we need.
How many days did we water the soil with regret
until love
finally bloomed.