Here. Take this makeshift poem. Copy the lines on a sheet of paper then cut them into tiny strips. Find a shovel and dig a hole. Bury the ribbons of words. Water that spot for seven days. Watch. Nothing will flower there. This will teach you something about love. How it begins with words that at times cut and get jumbled and buried away. How at times it appears unblooming. How at times it feels foolish, like watering paper in the backyard before dark. Love is the essence of things hoped for. The tending is evidence you believe.