Picking Daisies on Sundays (Picking Daisies on Sundays, #1)

by Liana Cincotti

I never understood why anyone spoke poorly of the color brown, it was a dream on you

The wallpaper above her bed frame was glued in my brain the way it was glued against her walls. I got so close to running my fingers against it.

Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my heart knocking against my chest at the sight of you

I got so close to running my fingers against it

I would’ve gone down on my knees just to hear you say yes

My heart was so full of our memories that it painted my body like a scrapbook

How could you provide me air and suffocate me at the same time?

I tried to stop loving you, but along the way, you found your way into the sound of my laugh, the style of my writing, and the threads of my clothes

Glances, gazes, eyes following places they shouldn’t have seen

Burden me with your secrets

If hearts were meant to love, then why did mine feel so empty?