Everyday I sit next to what I want to be. They’re bright and lively. Thriving despite the less than optimal conditions “our” parent provides. Shes’s theirs too. They are green, I am, what, grey, a little sad, pale green mixed in. My color fades everyday. They may be able to die but they can thrive too. I reach for the light too. I may not need it but I want it. Just to be like them.

My reality shifted the day montie died. Monesteras are king here. His collapse gave me an epiphany. I’m immortal. Maybe I’ll find acceptance of my existence if I convice myself I’m better than them. Healthy doesn’t always mean happy. So maybe a twisted perception could lead to better places for me. Maybe the stories got it wrong. Here I am. A tiny porcelain plant figurine. Anything should be allowed to enter their villian era right?