And so, I did what any normal human being with a soul would do. I let my belongings fall to the floor, ran over to him with tears welling up in my eyes and screamed, "Nooooo!"
I really, really wish I were kidding.
I hadn't slept in over 24 hours, which might have been a factor. But the point is, I didn't realize how emotionally attached I could get to a plant. I made something grow. I gave something life. And then I gave it death.
After changing immediately into sweatpants, listening to Elliott Smith on repeat and watering what was left of Kyle with my pitiful, salty tears, I saw a glimmer of green hope. Underneath the cold dead stems were some stems with life still left in them. I pulled out all the shriveled ones, and lo and behold, there were some fighters who had just been buried underneath all of the death. If I had stopped crying for two seconds I probably would have heard their tiny little cries for help.
In short, I may have overreacted. As of this moment, Kyle still lives. There may be less of him, but by God, I will nurture the crap out of those soldier stems. They will grow up to be the strong Italian basil leaves they were meant to be, go to a good basil college and have thriving basil families.
And then I will make pesto.