I’ve been accused of being a romantic. A sap. But how could I be anything different? I grew up on Bollywood movies with men spinning around in fields of flowers, singing about how the girl they love is more beautiful than every daisy, rose, and tulip in the world. How the fuck am I not supposed to tell Willow that she’s brighter than all the stars in the sky? How can I look at her and say, You look nice, when I want to scream from a snow-covered mountaintop that just the sound of her voice could raise me from my grave?
