drop dead ; phan

vi

"this is a nice cactus," dan smiled softly, poking at the small cactus in the window sill. they were at a plant themed aesthetic tea café; both of them had just ate sandwiches. phil learned almost immediately once they started talking about dan's love for cacti. dan had wore a white flower crown today, which had been making phil giggle most of the time they had spent there.

"you know what i think about cacti?" dan beamed and phil nodded, trying not to laugh at how enthusiastic he was about plants. dan seemed to be getting more and more comfortable around phil, and that in itself made phil happier.

"well, i think that a cactus is like me. we both have these harsh, venomous needles that represent our abstract detachment and self confinement that people see on our surface. so, because of this negative image we own, humanity takes what they first see and think of us as abrasive, barbed beings. but, despite this persona that we represent, we grow these tiny flowers, that represent the good characteristics in us. but some people aren't even aware of these little, staggering flowers that we grow. and alas, the first thing humanity thinks of when we are brought up in conversation is 'danger', not 'potential'. although, with the dark, murky depths and viscosities of our cruel persona, all of us need a bit of sunshine. a person of brilliant, lustrous, sunshine to maybe, just maybe, have the ability to see past the needles, and be aware of the beauty of the mess that is me and cacti. therefore, i suppose the struggle is truly ourselves. it proves challenging to find and be aware of our own flowers when we see all our scathing needles to be more of the majority. and when we are seen in humanity's eyes as something to avoid, it proves even harder. and when our needles viciously hurt someone, it seems to rapidly fade our flowers to a mere remembrance of what we used to be like. it seems each time we stab someone, another new needle grows and a flower drops dead, until we are blinded by our own clear hate and crisp guilt and there are no memories of our past flowers, and it's hard to even imagine that they used to exist. second guesses, doubts, anxious thoughts. the biting monsters that eat away at our minds until we crack, and it seems that even the sunshine can't fit through the cracks. but somehow it manages to, as cacti aren't extinct and i still exist."

that was the longest time dan had ever spoke around phil. quite possibly the longest thing he's said in a long time.
phil started giggling at his enthusiasm and the amount of thought he put into that. dan face went pink as if he just realized that he actually said that. he used to ramble around adrian and his boyfriend, but ever since they died he hasn't had anyone to rant about metaphors and similes to, except for himself in mirrors.

"wow, that was really stupid, never mind," he mumbled, almost to himself, and taking a sip of his bubbly green tea smoothie.

"i've never related more to a plant in my life," phil laughed. he swore he almost saw dan smile a bit too at his compliment. he seemed to be more at peace, he noticed.

dan looked highly embarrassed at what he had said, and highly shocked that he talked to phil about it. it was all a metaphor with a cactus but really, it showed how much dan hated himself and really showed his pain, disguised in a rant about a plant, of all things.

he was looking down at his hands on his lap thinking about what he had said when phil suddenly asked without warning,

"do you not love yourself?"

it was so sudden that dan's face shot up and he looked right at phil, terrified. he was looking intently at dan in the eye and dan started fidgeting in the booth opposite from his new friend.

"uh, why-y do, um, what makes you ask that?" dan stumbled on his words as they anxiously escaped his trembling lips.

"because, although you said you have nice flowers and good parts of yourself, which you very much do, you also said its hard for you to love yourself and see yourself positively because you feel guilty from hurting people over the years."