The plant in the living room is dead. The leaves look sad and depressed, they’re hanging their heads, they’re giving up. I cut off some of the dead leaves so more energy could flow to the ones that were still alive, somehow that explanation made sense, but to no avail. I tried watering it, but now I’ve drowned the plant. A few baby-leaves have started to grow from the base of the pot so not all hope is lost. However most leaves are dead or very close to the end and I have to witness this living organism fighting for his life in the corner of the living room. Who thought I’d ever care about something as trivial as a plant? A plant used to be a waste of space. Now I consider it a roommate.
I’m getting older, and I’m changing.