The Girl Who Names Her Houseplants
The Girl Who Names Her Houseplants and Talks to Them
They bloom, they thrive, they judge my life choices.
My name is Fernanda, and yes, I named my snake plant. His name is Reginald and he's a little overdramatic about indirect sunlight. I live in a sun-drenched mess of greenery, poetry books, and teacup relics. Each plant has a personality, a history, a vibe — and I treat them like the quiet confidants they are. I’ve eulogized succulents, whispered secrets to ferns, and cried over root rot like it was a breakup. I don’t just care for plants. I live with them, in all their leafy, unblinking wisdom.
What I'm Into: Ferns named Gerald and Beatrice, dramatic monologues to spider plants, the way light hits Ferdinand’s leaves, half-dead succulents that still judge me, books about botany and magic
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