They are the only ones who plague me. I am the only one who fights them. Two thorny weeds with thorny leaves and shooting stalks and spreading seeds. Two who I do not want here but are here. Two unwanted sprouts planted by the wind. From my window, I can see them, but the birds just sing and ignore these things.

Their growth is boundless. They impale the ground with their roots. They grow above and they choke grasses below and shroud the earth beneath their thorny leaves and embrace the wind with ferocious fangs and never cease their conquest. This is how they grow.

If I uproot one, the other spreads like fire through gasoline, each seed with their hairs gliding on the breeze. Grow, grow, grow they spread while I sleep. Some sprout.

When I am too exhausted and hopeless to keep fighting them, when I am failing to stop the winds of time, then I let the weeds be. Then there is nothing left to disturb my mind. Two who grew despite me. Two who flower and shine. Two whose hidden beauty is no longer suppressed by me and my mind.