It was about a year ago when the seed in my chest sprouted. I woke up the morning after our date still warm in the glow of what happened. You planted this seed with a kiss, and in my chest I felt it root. When I woke up, I remembered you and was only a little surprised when I saw the green sprout shooting right out of in the middle of my chest. I was careful in the shower, making sure the hot water rushing over my shoulders didn’t damage it. I could trace the lines of the roots under my skin with my fingers, a radiating organic squiggle branching out from where you rooted yourself in me. When I came out for breakfast I asked Alex what she thought of it, and she just looked at it and shrugged.

“Oh, yeah, that happens. I had it in high school, once,” she said, taking another bite of off-brand Cheerios. “Not uncommon. Be careful, though, sometimes it can hurt.” She didn’t say any more. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and poked at the green shoot under my shirt, feeling it spring back up.

When I saw you that night, it grew again. I could feel your vines wrap around my ribs, pushing deeper. It wasn’t painful; the roots gave off a wonderful warmth as they spread through my chest. We talked for hours; you had a seed of your own, the same hue, the same beautiful growth. It was small then, and each time I saw you, talked with you, even if I had just thought of you, I felt it grow a little more inside of me.

Summer started, and we fell through it together, our leaves growing stronger and stronger in the hot summer sun. I felt roots wrap around my lungs, could feel them shift as I breathed in and out. It was a part of me, just as much an organ as my heart, and as it pushed deeper it was more and more my own. It warmed up my muscles, made it easier to breathe, easier to get up in the morning.

It grew, though, to be quite large. It was a bright green covering, wrapping around my back, up my shoulders, down my arms, clinging to my skin.

At first I covered it up. It was easy because of its size, and when it was small it didn’t feel like anything worthy of showing off. I was, truth be told, embarrassed by it, because it seemed silly and insignificant, just a tiny little thing. But that summer, I wasn’t afraid of showing it anymore. I took off my shirt to swim, and I wore it proudly.

Lying on the beach, you traced your fingers idly along the tangled vines. I traced mine along yours.

“What do you think this is, honestly?” I asked.

You paused, looking off at the waves. “I think … I think it’s us. In a way. Not you and me on our own, but some combination of us.”

I said, “Hmm,” and we said nothing more.

Summer ended, and we started to change. The roots and vines remained tangled around my exterior and tangled in my insides, but the skin started to grow tough and brown. You complained that yours were too tight, green tentacles squeezing you, holding you back. But I could only see what they used to represent. I disregarded what they had become.

So you left. You tore out your own first, grabbing it by its wilted roots, ripping it out with a quick pull. Yours had been decaying for some time. But mine was still an organ, a part of me. So when you pulled it out, there was a lurching, wrenching pain, leaving traces for me to find when I coughed them up in the shower, covered in blood and bad memories.

The day after was tough. At work, I couldn’t help but poke at the hole in my chest. It hurt, but it was impossible to ignore, and people noticed.

“I know what that is,” said Teddy, whom I’d never spoken to before. It surprised me when his bearded mouth started to move. He spoke with a Southern drawl. “It hurts, don’t it? It gets better, though. I promise.” He patted my shoulder and gave a sad smile. One of the gaps in my chest started to close.

I got home, and Alex asked if I wanted to talk about it. “No,” I said, but in the way that left an offer to push a little more. I sat on the couch next to her.

“What happened?”

“It’s gone,” I said, and with that came a whole new crushing feeling. I felt the hole clench as my chest tensed. I tried not to cry. I wanted to fall apart, but I wanted to take everything else apart. I wanted to scream, but I wanted to be left alone. I wanted you back, but I never wanted to see you again.

Alex scooted closer to me, put her arm around me, and just held me there. I let loose, and everything poured out. The tears stung my open wound as I told Alex every detail through stuttering breaths. After a while it didn’t hurt anymore. Alex’s fingertips traced my back, circling each little dot where vines had once peeked out. Her fingers never ventured inside the Swiss cheese holes, though. She knew it was too early for that.

It took a couple months for my wounds to heal. At first, I tried filling them up with another tangle of roots. I set up a fake web in the holes, using anyone willing to fill up the blanks and gaps. All that did was stop the wound from healing, but I couldn’t see that. I could only see that I had a hole in my chest and these temporary fixes could fill it.

“I don’t think this is healthy,” Alex said to me after a while. I’d just walked through the door after work. “You’re not helping yourself, only hurting.”

I told her I just needed time. That after such a long time I felt I’d earned some freedom.

“How long?” Alex asked. “It’s been almost a month.”

I looked at my feet.

She looked at me, now sympathetic, and took a deep breath. “I think you need time for yourself. Just be you. Find out what you like.”

To relax a bit, I got into the shower. It was always refreshing to feel the hot water roll down my back, turned to a point where it stung but didn’t quite hurt. I thought about what Alex had said, and after a while I stopped thinking at all, just let the water pour over me and drip into what holes were left unhealed. My fingers idly traced the scars.

The wounds began to heal faster. I started doing things again, things I hadn’t even realized I had given up. I hung out with friends, and each time the holes healed a little more. Once it was mostly gone, I started to date again. I kept it hidden for as long as possible. I wasn’t embarrassed, but it never seemed relevant. At least, never relevant enough to bring up.

It did come up, though, as it always will. We got to a point when we were comfortable being bare with each other, and I had to be honest. I was anxious about this, worried about scaring them off. But it was okay, because they had one too. Relief washed over me when I saw that familiar dotted scar, when I knew they understood. We held each other tight, understood that we knew how much it hurt, and understood that there was no reason to be jealous. The wounds had healed.

It was only after this that a new seed could take root, and it took root in them too. We were both scared to let it grow again, but that organic warmth calmed us. We stood together, roots growing slower, but just as strong as before. This time they didn’t wilt. At least, not yet. I don’t think they will, and anyway, now I know how to handle the release.

I’m better now, I think. I have another heart to tend to, another bond to grow, and it’s better than what was before. The scars are still visible. They’re mostly covered by the new growth, but they’re there. They’ll never go away.

As ugly as they are, they toughened me; I at least have that to thank you for. But the calluses hold this new growth back, and it’s hard to relax when I’m afraid of being ripped open again.

Time and distance taught me what poisoned the seed we grew together, and I blame neither of us. It was a mutual destruction, and while it took root, it was built on shaky ground. I can accept that now. I’ve moved on, I’ve learned, and a new seed has taken root. I hope the same is true for you.