There is a garden, buried in my mind, under the brush of thoughts and hidden from the outside world. On the best of days, it is Eden. I can hear the birds chirping, and bees buzz as they hop between the roses, not a care in the world. On these days, the best of days, retreating into the garden is sitting on a wooden swing, peonies and hyacinth blooming and filling the cool breeze with their soft scent. The sun hangs eternally in that golden hour, making the creek sparkle and the whole place glow. The clouds form shapes of inspiration and escape from the world outside, and I can take deep, slow breaths in the calm.
Lately, though, the roses have become overgrown, and when I try to swing, or move at all, their thorns prick at my ankles, and I watch the droplets of blood fall and hide in the velvet petals. The branches on the tall willow crack and buckle under my weight, their energy stolen by crawling ivy and oppressive weeds. The bees begin to sting, and spider string webs that cover everything like false snow. The clouds are deep, dark, and suffocating, snuffing out the light of the sun. The creek is flooded and it's all too much. But if I stop now...
If I stop now the garden will wither to nothing. The roses will wilt and peony petals will fall from their stems. Honey will cease to flow as the bees disappear and the birds fly away. The spiderwebs will remain, though their builder will have long since fled. I will sit on a wooden plank in the dry grass, ropes around me frayed and rotting. The sun will be gone, but the moon will never come out to greet me. If I could just stand up, water the plants, maybe I can get my Eden back.
What was once paradise can quickly become an overgrown Tartarus, claustrophobic and stifling. Just as easily it can wither into Asphodel before my eyes. I cannot force my Eden to grow back, no matter how hard I try. Time is the only cure. Time, and care, and sometimes I care too much and upset the balance. Before it can come back, the pendulum swings and I am thrust back into the storms again, to dodge thorns and spider's legs and try to tame my garden again.
All I can do is keep trying. The world is tossing us into its own storms, the sands of time are starting to burn our eyes. But how can I escape this Hell, if it is growing inside of me, too?