Angel (prose poetry - Neville Longbottom)

4: I hope you find comfort in being soft

Dewy spring glows on chlorophylle leaves, the air fumbling through,

Twigs so firm and growing, tangling,

Like your hair, and like your heart.

You're only a shy boy with crooked teeth, the hand that brushes the cold stone walls as you walk, and trips on unmade laces.

So weak and pristine, a savant meated plant.

You swore to become vegetarian when you were old enough to resist your uncle without starving. Though you wondered if the meat would make your muscles grow like they all said they would. Why did wizards- less cruel than muggles eat meat? Wizards would never want to admit just how alike to muggles they are, and how they shared one common ancestor.

Your wrists seemed so soft and breakable compared to a giant plant's stud. After all, many plants live forever and could break your bones.

I wish I could read the handwritten inscriptions in your books and understand. What are their names? Properties? Magic? Would you play a game of "would you rather, plant edition". Ask a million questions. Which one's the friendliest, the best to have as a pet, which would you gift to an enemy, what is the best nectar to extract, are some hallucinogenic, would we smoke together?

The primary requirements to take care of plants are patience, wisdom, care and knowledge. Angry destroyers never could. But those too sentimentally naive could lose interest. There is a firmness and dexterity, handliness. Those who love Potions but hate Herbology just have no empathy for the living, and no interest in accepting the different. There's a bravery in handling a monster without killing it.

I think you would hate biology. Botanists and biologists are worlds apart.

I wonder if you dream of a cottagecore life, and you're too scared of admitting you want a lover because the idea sounds too foreign. A hermit's life is comfortable. But you probably are too focused on pleasing those around to think about paving way to your dream. Living in Hogwarts is fine for now.

I wonder if even as an adult you still feel estranged from everyone, and have this strangely strong admiration for anyone, because their talents will always seem better than yours.

I hope you find comfort in being soft. Warm-knit jumpers, dried flowers, brown boots and pond reserves. Where algae and silken fish make you feel alright. I hope the bullies of your mind get replaced by forest creatures, and that you can stare at your reflection without resenting being human.