What happened to us, Jeff? Things feel so different now. I miss the way we used to be.
Remember the day that you brought me home? You weren’t even planning on getting anything at the farmer’s market, you just hadn’t left your apartment in 24 hours and thought that being around people would be good for you. I remember it so clearly. I was the last basil plant left on the table, in between the homemade kombucha stand and the other homemade kombucha stand. You had almost finished walking through the entire market in about seven minutes and the only thing you had gotten so far was a coffee from the Starbucks on the corner. Our gazes met. It seemed like destiny.
Oh Jeff, what an exciting day that was! You vowed to become a new man on that walk home with me, the type of man that grows his own basil. The type of man who would host dinner parties in his one-bedroom apartment who, once the food was served, would say something like “oh I almost forgot!” and top the dinner with his own fresh basil beckoning the admiration and jealous rage of his guests.
That was the man that I thought I was going home with that day when you placed me on your windowsill. Of course, the window directly faces another building and there’s a balcony directly overhead so I don’t get much light here… and the bowl you smoke weed out of is always here so the smell is a bit strong… but I didn’t mind!
You promised me so much, Jeff. You were going to include me in so many different gourmet dishes: linguini, fettuccini, rigatoni… I guess it was mostly different pastas really. Together that night we made a beautiful spaghetti and canned tomato sauce and you told me how beautiful I looked on top of it. You even showed me off to the world, posting a picture on Instagram with the caption “#spaghettisunday isn’t complete without fresh basil from my garden! #foodie #sustainability.”
It was the beginning of the rest of our lives together.
It’s not like I expected you to use me every meal. The next day you ordered Chinese food. Totally understandable, you can’t have basil all the time, I get it. I’ll be here when you need me, I said. The day after that you ordered a pizza. Lots of people like basil on their pizza, but not you apparently. Not a problem, to each their own. The following night you had a bowl of the same cereal you had for breakfast. Actually, it seemed like you were kinda going through something then so I didn’t want to say anything.
30 days later, and you still haven’t touched me. How do you think that makes a basil plant feel? What did I do wrong? I know that I’ve wilted a bit since you got me, but did you really expect me to look that fresh forever? Chlorophyll fades, but I didn’t think your love for me would as well.
I’m done waiting. I’ve wasted the prime of my life sitting alone on that windowsill and I’ve had enough. I know that you’ve suddenly just started watering me, but it’s too late. I’m leaving you, Jeff. It’s a shame that it had to come to this. I’d ask that you compost me, but I’m quite sure that you don’t know how to do that.
While admittedly I’m very hurt, I still wish you all the best. Part of me will always miss you, but I just don’t feel like you’re ready for a basil plant in your life. The timing just wasn’t right. Goodbye, Jeff.
Regretfully,
B
P.S. Please say goodbye to the marijuana buds in your apartment for me. We’ve grown quite close.