I need...[in addition to oxygen]

I need somebody to love.

I don’t necessarily mean a boyfriend. Boyfriends aren’t the only people who can give and receive love. I need a little sister to nurture. I need a Mom to roll my eyes at. I need a brother to look up to or a chicken’s coop to clean. I need to laugh at my Dad’s Harvard humor.

Right now all I have is my plants. And my roommates will tell you that I have enough of them.

I whisper praise to their little green tendrils.

I flood their air with Chopin and Tchaikovsky.

I sing.

I tuck them in, and I monitor their water levels.

I am with them when they wake every morning.

Most of my plants are doing great; although, some of them have rejected my love and simply refuse to grow. My Petunias are growing out instead of up, my Snapdragon is growing sideways, and what should be my Gazanias look instead like ocean barnacles. I love dumping excessive care on my plants, but the most they can give back is a little oxygen. Oxygen is essential to life of course, but my spirit is suffering from a lack of intimacy.

We are relational beings. Our identities are defined by our relationship with God as His children. We live off of love. So being away from home, where nine people know me well, love me anyway, and share a close connection with me, is obviously difficult. College dorms seem to be somewhat of a paradox: there are six of us crammed into such close corners, yet none of us feel very close. It’s the anomaly of feeling alone in a crowded room; we’re all isolated together.

So please, this Valentine’s Day, instead of bringing me a dozen roses to place beside my dormant garden, bring me somebody to love. Come over to my apartment and spend time with me. Build a bridge between our hearts as I soak in the person that you are by listening to you talk about nothing in particular. Maybe we’ll sprout little tendrils of our own.