Potted Plant

You had an incredible inability to keep even a potted plant alive. They protect me from curses, you had said, a gentle smile pointed towards drooping leaves that were more brown than green, they take the hit, so I don’t have to. I’d shake my head, and let you carry on with your foolish ideals; always happiest when you were.

I guess it should have been a warning when the plants stopped dying. I’d smile and smell their flowers; the pinks, blues, and yellows brightening up your room that normally bathed in dull shades of brown and grey. You’d shake your head at me, letting me find my joy in the little things; always happiest when I was.

But what did I know?

You had an incredible ability to lie. To pull the wool over my eyes and make me think everything was okay. You distracted me with those pinks, blues, and yellows, hiding the purple around your eyes and the red on your wrists. You’d shake your head at me when I asked what was wrong. Nothing, I’m happy, you’d say, and I’d let you carry on because I was naïve enough to believe you.

You had an incredible inability to keep a potted plant alive. And, I guess, I had an incredible inability to keep you alive too.