What do you do when the plants stop listening?

They’re still there—same leaves, same stems—but something’s changed. I talk to them like always, but it feels like I’m rehearsing a conversation with someone who’s already gone. Not dead, just… absent. I wonder if they notice the difference in my voice. Or if they’ve stopped caring. Maybe that’s the real test: not whether they grow, but whether we still speak to each other at all.