In death, in love, in sadness, in rain, in sun, in sickness, and in health. Top notes of the sweet sweet conditioner I use when I feel life in that skin again. The prickly pear of the summer I waste summers dreaming about. Every green set against the blue that makes the leaves all the more incandescent peels a layer of skin back. My nerves are exposed to the swaying of the trees and the pollen in the air, gently teasing my flesh. Is it desensitisation or has my body settled with the sediment of the atmosphere? Is it assimilation or do I finally belong here? Not adaption of my roots to this soil, but soil making space and adapting to my branches, to my rhizome. We all need to grow and there is much enough for all of us. No one else apologises for splitting the soil so why must I? I’ll excrete loathing like it’s shit. I’ll absorb water because I need it. Now my giggles mingle with the ones I observed last year from the piss-soaked tree. My giggles are mine and I’m not listening to someone else’s. It’s the prickly pear of this summer which reminds me I’m a person.