There he sat in the living room by the sliding glass door. It was an active area. He enjoyed watching the people come in and out of the house all through the day, a fresh blast of desert air every time the door opened. Every time someone walked by he would stretch his leaves as far as he could, hoping for a caress or a kind word or two. But no one ever noticed him. He sat there breathing in and out, slowly extending his leaves, day after day with not ounce of encouragement.

Short and stout, he didn’t feel nearly as lively as the creeper with his trailing tendrils and new leaves seemingly every day. And that smug shamrock in the pretty orange ceramic pot, touting her delicacy and begging for water on daily basis. Who did she think she was?

He looked down at himself. Small pot, long dark palm like leaves, slightly browning at the tips. What did she expect? He had been in this pot for ages. Why did she bring him home if he was only going to sit here unloved, unappreciated? He breathed the CO2 as well as the others! Didn’t he deserve just a little love for his efforts?

He was sedate in his antique copper pot. Growing always came so slowly to him especially in the bright fake light of the grocery store where he grew up. But he was reliable! He didn’t ask for much. He needed only a small space, a little natural sunlight, and taste of water now and again, to survive. But he wanted more than just to survive.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be caressed every once in awhile, like the shamrock and its tiny flowers? Wouldn’t it be heavenly to have the soil amended and his container changed every year like the creeper? What was his purpose here on the mantel?

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