The Garden
by Riosuu

My parents are the owners of a garden.
They have five plants to take care of,
and they sometimes forget to water them.

My father has his favorites among the group.
There is the eldest and the youngest.
The eldest has thorns and burns in its green exterior from the past.
Right now it’s in bloom, but sooner or later, I know my father will get caught up in the pricks once more and then cut them off.
The youngest is his favorite.
It has a plump bud; still not ready to bloom.
It always needs water, and pruning, and attention.
Whatever the need, my father will be there for it.

My mother takes care of the second oldest and second youngest the most.
The second oldest is able to survive for a while on its own,
but it eventually cries out for help.
The second youngest doesn’t necessarily need much,
but with all its colors and scents, it strives for more than needed.

Then there is the other plant.
It is not yet fully grown but old enough to survive without nourishment.
Sometimes my parents water it;
not often, though.
There were times when salt water was poured and it almost died, then a time when part of its stem broke, and there was also a time when pesticides went into its roots.
The plant still lives,
but it gets weaker in its lack of health.
One day, I think, that plant will be mistaken for a weed, and thrown away.
It wouldn’t be remembered since it stood in the shadows of the older two and hid behind the younger two.
No.
I don’t think they’ll notice.
I think it really was just a weed.