The chives stand tall in their terracotta pot, a vibrant green testament to persistence. Today marks Day 47 of this peculiar ritual—the daily trimming of exactly two chive stalks, regardless of their condition, regardless of my needs in the kitchen, regardless of whether I even plan to use them.
The routine has become meditative. Each morning, before coffee, before checking emails, I approach the windowsill where they bask in the morning light. The scissors wait in the same spot—a pair of kitchen shears with orange handles that have developed a faint green patina from weeks of this singular purpose.
At first, the chives seemed confused by the attention. They'd been a casual herb, something I'd snip when making omelets or garnishing soups. Now they've become the centerpiece of my kitchen, the subject of daily scrutiny. Their growth patterns have shifted—they've become bushier, more determined, as if responding to the relentless schedule.
The cuttings accumulate in a small ceramic dish. Some days they're crisp and fragrant, other days they're tougher, more mature. I don't discriminate. Two stalks, clean cuts, about an inch from the soil. The remaining stubs look like tiny green soldiers standing at attention.
Reddit remains silent. No upvotes, no comments, no validation. The original post that started this—some throwaway comment about "perfect chives"—has long since been buried in the endless scroll. But the commitment remains. The rules were clear: cut two chives daily until the internet declares them perfect.
What does perfection look like in a chive? Uniform thickness? Consistent color? A certain aroma? The absence of yellow tips? I've studied them from every angle, comparing today's growth to yesterday's, measuring the speed of regrowth, noting how they respond to changes in weather and light.
The ritual has taught me about patience, about showing up even when no one's watching. The chives don't care about Reddit's opinion—they simply grow, day after day, responding to water and light and the steady rhythm of the scissors.
Tomorrow will be Day 48. The scissors will be there, the chives will be waiting, and I'll be here, cutting two stalks and wondering if today might be the day someone on the internet finally notices.
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