The Pot Plant
It’s funny how happy I make her, simply from just being. I really don’t have to do very much. Well, other than not get sick and die. She’s more than content to just sit and watch me, glad that I exist and that I’m here, brightening up her day.
Obsessively she watches over me, taking note of my daily appearance, monitoring whether I’m standing tall or potentially drooping, if I’ve had enough water and whether I could benefit from more sun. Like a mother, who doesn’t know whether her baby is too warm, hungry or simply tired, she’s constantly wondering whether I’m doing ok, and what else she can do to sustain me. Should she sing to me? Maybe she’ll sing to me? I mean, why not – she’s heard of people doing it before.
And besides, it’s nice to sing.