I had a plant when I was eleven. An Anthurium andraeanum - the flamingo lily. They have such beautiful flowers... Anyway, my parents bought it for me so I'd have something to occupy my curiosity with science and nature, and to keep me busy while they were in Barcelona for the winter.
When they bought it I did all the research I could on how to care for it, but they're quite temperamental. Outside their natural environment, they really require a greenhouse to survive, let alone thrive. My parents were convinced I could just water it and leave it on the windowsill and it would be alright. I wanted them to be right - I wanted to believe them. So even though I knew it would never be successful, I continued to water it and manipulate the lighting to suit it. I knew it would never thrive but I kept repotting it and repositioning it and fertilizing it. I managed to keep it alive but it never flowered, never bloomed or grew beyond its initial size.
It's like that. Our relationship. I know it won't grow past the point it's at now - that neither science nor love and affection can alter nature, reality. But I kept trying because I want to believe in it. I have spent my whole life dedicated to systematic inquiry and certainty and facts. Since my parents bought me that plant I haven't done anything that attempts to subvert reality. Until I met you.