I have just been tucked into earth; this surrounding is unfamiliar. My roots are stretching slowing into the soil Iāve never touched before. I feel the presence of another being. The soil is now damp. I feel warmth, possibly from the sun. I like this feeling. I feel the presence of the other every day whenever I feel warmth. It takes care of me; it makes sure that I have enough water to drink every day.
Itās been a while now. My first leaf has broken through the surface. I feel the sun directly on me. I notice my surroundings, Iām not alone. Thereās a plant with leaves extending to as far as the sun, thereās a small leaf like me, a little different though, thereās a plant with thorns on its leaves. I wonder if the other being takes care of them like it does with me. I sense it again, my source of water when it doesnāt rain.
I get to finally see the face of my nurture. Itās a man. He has a smile on his face when he provides me with water, one that I reciprocate. I drink up all the water and feel energized to make food for myself. He repeats the process for the other two plants beside me. They are pleased with the amount given to them. Then he goes away.
He often comes around occasionally, to check on us and not just to water. He makes sure Iām well maintained and not lacking in anything. He takes care of me. I have grown now I have multiple leaves out now. When the sun rises, he does too but today was different than the rest. Today I was put into a carrier, and he took me to a different location. I still had sun, water, and the air around, so I didnāt lack in making myself food.
But something felt different. This surrounding was new to me. Different than the last, it didnāt feel comfortable. I want to go back to my home. Although the environment was different the man was the same, the warmth was the same. He waters me every day like always. But something was different. Then it hit me. The plant with thorns, its gone. I have only two of my cousins with me. It took some time for me to get used its absence. At least Iād never lose the man.
I am now well-adjusted to the new environment; I like it here. The lady I always see pass by, the two girls that go in and out of the house the man lives in. Today like every other day he waters me, I absorb it and start making food for myself. The man waters my cousins and returns home, but he comes back out with a shove and more tiny seeds. He plants them like he did with me I presume, and waters it too. Welcome to the family little one. I feel somewhat whole again, this plant is not going to replace thrones, but it feels like the missing part of me is back with this.
My bud grows today. It has been growing for a while now, but it opens finally. I feel matured into a becoming flower. This is my breaking point of my life cycle. After the bud grows, I will be more noticeable to people. One of my petals pushes its way into the sun. I feel accomplished. Iām not just green anymore. Iām a burst of color in the world, and I feel proud.
The man notices immediately. His eyes widen and he kneels closer, inspecting me with wonder and joy. His smile is brighter than the sun today. He calls for someone, one of the girls in the house, and points to me. She kneels too, gazing at me like Iām something special. I suppose I am.
This morning doesnāt feel the same. It started with absence of the man. He didnāt appear one day. I stretched my leaves early, as I always do, anticipating his presence. I waited. The air was quiet. Too quiet. The familiar sound of the watering never came.
The girl appeared instead. She moved differently. She watered me, yes. But it wasnāt the same. I absorbed the water, but it didnāt carry the warmth, the voice, the soul I had come to know. She smiled faintly, distracted. Then she left.
The days passed. He didnāt come. I held on for a while. Hoping. Plants donāt understand time like humans do, but I felt each sunrise stretch longer. I gave all the energy I had to my bloom, to my leaves, to the soil below. I kept making food, kept feeding myself, kept trying.
But something inside me was untethered. I didnāt know where he had gone. I didnāt know he planned to return. All I knew was that he left and I wasnāt enough for him to stay.
The girl kept watering me, dutiful, gentle even. But her care was mechanical. She didnāt whisper to me the way he did. She didnāt pause, didnāt place her hand near my stem just to feel my presence. I drank, but the water didnāt refresh me. I fed myself, but I wasnāt nourished. My bloom began to fade, color dulling slowly.
I missed his voice. I missed how he noticed the smallest change in me, the curl of a leaf, the tilt of my stem. He knew me. And without that knowing, I felt invisible. Unseen. Unloved.
My leaves drooped. The bud that once stood proud began to shrivel, folding back in on itself. My stem lost its strength. The roots no longer pushed forward. Instead, they clung to the memory of him, the feel of his hands in the soil, the rhythm of his voice in the wind.
One morning, I stopped lifting myself to the light. It still shone, the air still moved, but I couldnāt respond. He didnāt come. And so, I let go.
Piece by piece, leaf by leaf, I surrendered to the silence. My petals crumpled and fell, one at a time, quiet as a whisper. The soil was still moist beneath me, but I couldnāt drink anymore. Not the way I used to. Not without him. In the end, I was just a stem, thin and bare, surrounded by memories and soil and sunlight that no longer meant anything.
Each day blurred into the next sunrises that brought no warmth, water that tasted of routine instead of care. The girl continued her task, her touch light but absent of feeling. I had faded by then. My petals long since fallen, my stem a brittle thread, my roots pulled back into themselves as if trying to forget they ever reached out.
I waited. For his steps. For his shadow. For the voice that once called me āstrong,ā ābeautiful,ā āgrowing.ā I clung to the memory of it like the last trace of sunlight in a dying season. But the memory wasnāt enough to hold me up anymore.
One morning, something was different.
The girl came again, but this time she didnāt bring water. She wasnāt alone. There was another presence, older, quieter woman. They didnāt speak much, just stood over me with lowered gazes and exchanged a few soft, tired words.
Then the hands came. Not his hands. I was lifted. The soil fell away from my roots like forgotten moments, dry and crumbling. I didnāt fight it. I had no strength left for resistance. I was weightless and hollow now. I felt the cool air wrap around what remained of me as I was removed from the pot that had once been my entire world.
I had grown here. I had reached for the sun. I had lived here. But now I was just something to be discarded. They placed me gently into a bag, wrapped me up with remnants of soil and silence. I was carried away from the garden, away from the others, away from the space I had called home.
I donāt know where I went after that. Maybe a bin. Maybe buried somewhere out of sight. Maybe just left to disappear. But I never saw him again. He never got to say goodbye. He never saw how much I had withered in his absence, how much of me died the moment he walked away.
He left for a while. I didnāt know he would come back.
But by the time he did, there was nothing left of me to return to.
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