your greenhouse smelled fresh and earthy. well, calling it a greenhouse is generous. the small shed that we built in your backyard long ago one spring has been filled to the brim with all sorts of flowers and plants. the neatly arranged pots with their green bodies seemed to be silently judging me. i couldn't even tell what types of flowers they were; even if you told me their names one by one, i would have forgotten them by the 5th one.
you push past me, flustered and smiling. sorry its so messy in here. your wispy voice, usually soft, sounds unnaturally loud in the crowded space. the last time we were here, the space was echoey, brimming with nothingness. now that it has been filled, i suddenly felt out of place. a stranger in the woods.
its been a while, hasnt it? you murmured sheepishly, sweeping the soil under the metal racks in an effort to tidy up the place. the silence between us widened, an amorphous mass that was sucking the breath out of my lungs. i find the edges of my mouth curling up in spite of myself. in a room overflowing with the vitality of life, the two of us could find nothing to say to one another. funny how we never notice the rifts forming until its too late.