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Hello, little honey bees. You glorious, sharp-edged, perfection seekers. You’ve been working so hard, holding everything together; come sit down with me for a while and take a load off.
As all good and unbearable perfectionists know, if you want something done right, you mostly have to do it yourself.
“Emily Walker. You might be able to steamroll everyone else around here into submission. But not me. Never me. If you want something from me, you’ll have to ask politely.”
And when she found me watching, she told me to find someone someday who will hug me when I’m sad and then help me look on the bright side of things when all I can see is the dark.
“Just how often do you picture me, Jackson?” I guess a little of that flirtation from the road has lingered. His smile is a feral thing. “More than either of us is comfortable with.”
No one needs me. And when they don’t need me, they don’t come around anymore either because I am a utility sponge. I am useful. And if I’m no use to someone anymore, they throw me under the sink.
“You are not alone, Emily. I would walk through my worst memories to get to you every single time.”
“Good. Life can be a little shit sometimes. But shit also makes great fertilizer.” She pats the back of my hand that’s holding hers. “Grow from your experiences, don’t let them smother the light out of you.”
“Maybe not everything will end in hurt. But we’ll never know if we don’t try.
“You think you’re unlovable, but I think I’ve never known how to love until knowing you.”
“And to think you consider yourself hard to love.” I kiss her temple. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
