Weeds

Standing there in a tattered tuxedo holding a weed mascarading as a flower and staring and Elana in a lacy black dress Clint could not help but feel he had some how stepped into a nightmare where he was about to attend a goth prom. Elana walked up to him and took the dirty roots of the weed Clint had in his hands.
“Do you know why I asked you to hold these?”
“No”
“They are me”
“You are a weed”
“In a matter of speaking”
“Then what does that make me”
“A gardener, of course”
“I don’t think I dressed the part”
“But yours is the last face I will see, and I want it to be with a lovely suit”
“Last face you will see?”
“Of course, I am weed, and you are a gardener”
“So I must exterminate you?”
“Yes”
“No”
“Why?”
“Why would I destroy something I love?”
“What if you didn’t love me?”
“Would you still want me to exterminate you if I did not?”

Elana took a good long look at Clint. She handed the weeds back to Clint, looking directly into his eyes.
“Clint, some day you will exterminate me, as a person.”
“I know, but that is just the nature of being in a relationship.”

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