Schoolyard crushes are Sisyphus's reckoning. Boys grab pigtail yokes, throwing sticks and stones. Girls cherish their pet rocks, blunt force trauma with hot glue and googly eyes. The heaviest words were the clumsiest. Do you like him, like like like him? Sisyphus fell for his boulder. While they all gathered rocks, I dug in the dirt.

Where is the rock? On her ring, on his ball and chain. Aren't you going to settle down too, like sediment in the riverbanks? Erosion will grind you to dust if you dare face the rapids alone. I feel it in their sharp questions, the sinking feeling of their fear. I found purpose without a partner weighing me down. The soil I cultivate threatens to show their fundamentals are not written in stone.

There is no room in my heart for romantic love. The deeper I dig, the more I unearth. Come, lay your stones in my garden. Let moss collect on the rocks and dirt beneath your fingernails. Revel in unfiltered platonic love. In the end, maybe you'll find the rock was right for you after all. No matter the outcome, you're sure to grow.