Graveyard Shift

My plants are starting to die.

It makes me sad to come in and see them; the one was green and happy when I left work on Friday. It was excited to have a weekend to enjoy, had plans on relaxing, getting some sunbathing in, possibly going for a swim. It was full of hopes and dreams. But its dreams were shattered. The water never came, but the water wasn't as desired as the sun. The sun went away, as someone pulled the blinds closed. And my plant was left, lonely in the darkness, wishing it could be elsewhere. Anywhere.

My plants are starting to die.

It makes me sad to come in and see them; the other was already starting to turn brown when I left work on Friday. I keep watering it, but never can seem to give it enough. It's dry and brittle, and falls to pieces any time the wind blows. My old plant died because I watered it too much; this one, I fear, is going to die, as I appear to be afraid to water it enough. Yet, I continue to water it and hope, wondering if it isn't just the water (or lack thereof) that's causing problems. For it, too, may be wanting the sun; it, too, may have had dreams of sunbathing, dreams that were shattered when it moved further inside the building, further from the freedom of the portals to the wide outdoors.

My plants are starting to die. And what surprizes me the most is that they've lived this long. Several months longer than any other plant I've tried to keep, they have quite the will to keep going.

But perhaps, one of these days, I will leave my door unlocked and slightly ajar. Perhaps, one of these days, I will allow them to run free. And perhaps they'll return to me, appreciative of all I do for them. Even if it isn't enough, mayhaps it's more than they'd get without. Perhaps I'm doing some good for them, even though all I get in return is complaining and a desk littered with dead leaves.