Him

Sat there among the others in a Swedish store, he walked up to me.
Looking all bright-eyed and jaded, picked me up, and looked at the others I sat with.
Talking to himself he decided to take me with him.
When he brought me to his home, he decided to put me in his kitchen. There I got sunlight, and it was indeed warm.
Nothing like at the store. Later on, he had transplanted me into a bigger and more comfortable pot.

He gave me water. He spoke to me' " I hope you live for a while". I could sense the sadness in his voice, the loneliness. He spoke a lot with himself.
When he would get upset he would argue as if there was someone else there in the room with him. I felt his pain, confusing and hopeless.
I guessed others didn't live long with him at all, so he was hoping that I would.
As time went by, I began to feel ill, and I started turning yellow at different parts of me body. He would also say "me" when he meant “my”. Guess it was his way of talking.
When he noticed that I wasn't feeling well. He decided to prune me which left me with fewer parts of me than I had before. He then gave me water. He's not very vigilant at giving me a drink, but I knew that he did his best given the chaotic way his life was.

He sat me by his balcony door, and I would suck in the rays of light and it felt good.
I've noticed that he started after a while to put his fingers in me pot. He would then give me water sometimes after he had finished digging his fingers into me pot.

With time I began to grow, and when he noticed that I was outgrowing me pot, he had transplanted me into a much bigger one. More room for me to move around in and feel comfortable, well enough to strive.
He would always look at me surprised, stroking me, and I would notice the caring way in which he looked at me, as I was the only thing keeping him from losing his sanity.

Poor bloke… I've witnessed a lot while living with him. The way he would go into a hyper frenzy when listening to music. He loves melancholic tunes most of all, and I guess it suited him.
He had a way of going about things gingerly, and we came to have a good rapport with one another. I grew accustomed to his talking to himself and laughing loud whenever he watched something on the flat board where I saw things move on it like magic.
His mood was always more stable when he watched that board, sometimes not and when he would be unsettled he would try looking for something that would calm him. Once I overheard him say to a glowing thing in his hand that he's watching Batman. He would watch Batman without end and most times on repeat.
It had put him in a quiet mood, and I liked seeing him calm, and somewhat at peace.

Poor boy... I really hope he finds peace. His home drips with remnants of how hard his life is, and I sometimes have a bad feeling that my life is better than his.
All I do is sit there soaking up the light and drink the water he provides me.
His way of coping with things is unlike anything I've seen.
I would hear him repeat words that he had heard from the flat board. It's uncanny to see how he switches into these characters he watches. He plays them so well and seems much happier when he does.
There came a time he started getting up early and dressing while watching something with witches on the flat board. "The charmed ones" they were called. He would watch them every morning, and it would flip his character to what they are while getting ready, and he seemed somewhat hopeful.
Whenever he would return home, he would eat, and fall asleep on the big green thing he sits on.

Snoring like a beast, I enjoyed listening to him sleep as I knew it was the only time of day when he's not disturbed and is somewhat comfortable. He would also talk to himself while asleep. Most times its just rambles, laughs and whispers. His home he kept dark. Always shaded from the light, and I got to the realisation that he liked it dark, but where I sit is good for me.

There would be times he would open up the windows letting light and fresh air in. He did this a couple times a day as to freshen the place.
I know most times he's bored, with no way of getting out of it. Yes, there's his music and Batman, but I guess at times not even those things help him.

Poor man... He’s so unsettled, always thinking, always talking to himself. Wish I could make him happy as he tries to make me. Except when he smokes, he rolls these white sticks and smokes them. Most times he goes into an eating frenzy after smoking and most times not. He's usually up late at night watching the flat board, which he has turned to his bed, so I don't get to see what he sees.
This I find good as I need my time of peace. The board would sometimes stop playing during the night, and I would hear him snore. Could he snore like a beast.

I wonder what he dreams of? Does he dream of hope, a better life than what he has now? I sometimes hear him making plans about what he would like to do in the future, with his life and his home.
Poor lad… I hope his dreams come true.