Hay-scented Ferns overwhelm my heart. They have a beauty to them, but not because they look different from any other ferns. In fact no one would be able to differentiate them from other ferns if it weren’t for the radiant allure that lies in the way they smell. Close your eyes and rely solely on your nose to introduce you to the sweet lemongrass scent this fern creates. This sweetness, one I have so few words to describe, is inviting, forcing the feeling of safety and warmth onto a person. They grow in large colonial clusters that look like a blanket, emphasizing this engulfing feeling of protection and innocence. It takes a very strong heart to see through their facade; a heart I do not possess. They do not signify safety. They signify the destruction loggers left behind, when they cleared thousands of acres of land for timber. They have a selfish charm, because they won’t share. They shade out any saplings, and poison any hungry visitor. It’s a damn shame they ended up being the villain of the understory, because they have such an addictive perfume.

Months after working so close to them for weeks, I crave nothing more than the warmth they gave me. I crave nothing more than the peaceful, satisfactory inhale I’ve only felt in their presence and I miss their playful touch on my legs as I’d walked by, almost like they were enticing me to stay, and forget what they’ve done. On cold dry winters, I wish for the dense feeling I’d get as they collectively radiated a suffocating heat. If a plant disguises itself in such a clever way, how am I to ever recover from the overbearing weight of a living, breathing person doing the same exact thing? How do I learn to forget the addictive laugh, or the foundation of trust?

Toxicity is thrown around as an idea that is black and white. Everyone instructs, explains, proposes and warns. ‘How could you be so clueless?’ How can you not notice the adverse actions of the person you hold so highly? Can’t you see how this relationship is affecting you; how much it’s tearing you apart? They all suggest moving on, getting rid of them, and leaving them behind, as if it’s the same as throwing away rotting fruit. But what if the only water you had to drink was contaminated? Wouldn’t you still drink it? Because after all, the pain- dehydration or poison- will be the same. It does not go away with a simple choice or decision. If the air was full of Carbon dioxide, would you stop trying to breathe?

There’s now this peculiar idea of a limit on hazardous toxins. A certain amount of phosphates and chemicals can be added to products without causing any immediate harm. But does that limit make it any less damaging? Obviously there are several different ways people deal with things like this. There is the notion that everything in moderation is the healthiest option, but don’t we find the extremes to be the commonalities these days? One will overindulge while others will avoid it at all costs.

I find myself lost, craving and consumed. I’m caught in the middle of every memory, and every what-if. I miss how things once were, and pray for the future to be different. I disappear in time, and become dizzy trying to find my way back to the present. I spend hours wondering if you can still love something, even if it’s bad for you.

You entice me with your facade, and I keep falling for the deceit. I am eager to be in the comfort of your presence, but find myself deprived, and left in your shadow. Like a fern, you maintain long wiry rhizomes that tangle me and hold me captive. Eventually I am fully connected, but then like the changing of seasons, your welcoming foliage dies off, and I feel as though I have been left in the emptiness, forced to endure the cold on my own. In your absence, I wait and crave the return of your warmth and security. When your fronds begin to uncurl in the spring, I will forget all that you have done. As per usual, I will leave all of the destruction, poison and suffocation in the past. I will allow you to grow while I am overcrowded and deprived of light and nutrients. I would give anything to keep you in my life, but I can’t stop feeling like some type of weed you want to be rid of.  Is the temporary feeling of love and safety worth the inevitable return of grief? Maybe someday I’ll know for sure.

Jennifer Wybieracki is headed into her senior year at ESF majoring in conservation biology. Although she has a passion for sciences, there is a huge part of her that still needs a creative outlet, which has driven her to take up writing. Plans for the future are uncertain, but she hopes to write it all down.