Flowers

She moved in and brought flowers with her, which she would pick or occasionally buy, and then dry and hang from the ceiling over the living room window sill.

She filled our house with beauty and a renewed vibrancy that she threw around so casually that it frightened me and made me feel small. I was struck with awe and it fueled a longing.

We had walks, and spent evenings in conversation, keeping each other's company on the couch. We shared precious moments brushing our teeth, I brushed my teeth more thoroughly than ever.

We once walked to a swing near her uni, and sat in the evening sun. She brought me an apple that I ate while she constructed a boat. We once climbed up the crane near our house and she told me, unwittingly, how our love would unfold.

I think she's struggling and hurting and trying to understand how to love, and what it is. I would find this beautiful and relatable, as it has hurt me a great deal too. I think that she's scared and that this is why. I don't want this for her, but what frightens me more is that I might be wrong and misunderstand the situation entirely. I can get things horribly wrong sometimes and that scares me. She is a different person, but sometimes I forget.

Earlier today she cuddled up to me and rested her head on my shoulder, and it's made my stomach flip a few times thinking about it already.

I still don't know what love is, I just know I like spending time with you, and yearn for your affection. I hope things would be easier, that I, that we, could be playful and explore like children do.

She touched and loved me so slowly and so sweetly, and covered me with beautiful words. In the night, she told me she loves how I touch her, and asked me what she could do to give me pleasure, want I like. I had to cry a bit, because no one ever asked me this before.

In her shower, she cleaned me with her sponge. She sang for me, and rubbed seaberry oil onto my back. She picked flowers from her garden to decorate our meal.