At the End of My Garden, Olivia Anizor

At the end of my garden

Walking through the rows of snapshots of dierent seasons lived traipsing on petals of insecurity, we’ll hold hands, me & who I want to be, her kind eyes look good with my shiny naïveté. We’ll use each other not to stumble, supporting each other through the overgrowth of lies disguised as weeds, and we’ll tiptoe over fear taking care to keep it underfoot. We’ll take a picture and laugh this is what we used to wish for. We would blow on dandelions with crossed fingers dreaming about blooming and blossoming, now our dream has bright green buds and it smells like spring. We walk hand in hand and reminisce on the doubt that threatened our garden, and we’ll smile because our faith needed a little doubt to grow. My garden of lessons learned, imperfect & magnificent and tended to with the gentlest of hands.

what a beautiful thing it is to see being & becoming bloom in the same soil.

At the End of My Garden Photography and Poem By Olivia Anizor