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I loved Levi Coldwell. I was in love with Levi Coldwell. My best friend of four years and counting.
Ten minutes later, he broke my heart. And I didn’t see him for four years.
‘Daisy?’ Levi asked. Levi Coldwell. Levi Coldwell was standing in front of me.
‘There wasn’t a guy at that school that deserved you,’ he said, briefly glancing at me before returning to the road.
Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my heart knocking against my chest at the sight of you
‘Sorry,’ I whispered. Apologizing for touching him, I reiterated, ‘I should’ve asked.’ ‘Don’t say sorry, you don’t ever need to ask,’ he whispered in a husky voice.
‘You haven’t even seen anything I’ve sewn in like… four years—’ ‘Yes, I—’ ‘—and you could probably find a professional that could get it done quicker—’ He looked confused. ‘But that’s not what I’m—’ ‘—and better and—’ ‘Dani, I want—’ He was not understanding. ‘—and cleaner and—’ ‘Daisy.’
Was it wrong of me to think of you when you were never mine?
Intimacy was to be seen by you; free falling was to be touched by you
‘Everywhere we go, people are infatuated by you, looking at you and yearning to talk to you. I…’ He paused for a long moment. ‘I am infatuated by you.’
But it felt like my feet were falling through the ground and my hands were holding onto him for dear life as if this moment was going to disappear. Romantic playlists burned into CDs. Hearts embroidered into scarves. Soft kisses on foreheads. Dark theaters on rainy Friday nights. Dainty gold jewelry against soft skin. French poems written while drunk. Protective hands against your hips guiding you through crowds. I felt all of it at once.
‘You intoxicate me, Daisy. The scent of flowers lingers on you everywhere you go, and I always want to follow,’ he murmured against my neck.
But I couldn’t remain if it meant being on the sideline of his love life for the rest of mine. I was too much of a hopeless romantic for that. I’d rather be unhappy with a chance at love, than no chance at all. But no one tells you how much love feels like grief until you have your heart broken and realize you can’t take any of it back.
‘Moving on’ was a broken record that I never had the strength to lift the needle off of
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
What type of cake are we baking?’ I asked. ‘Strawberry shortcake,’ Rhea said. ‘You like strawberry shortcake?’ I asked, skeptical. ‘No, it’s gross. No one should put fruit in dessert.’ Rhea cringed. I smacked my hand against my forehead. ‘Why are you making it then?’ ‘Levi tried making one earlier but failed epically,’ Claire said, sounding like her older sister. ‘Levi hates strawberry shortcake,’ I said, confused. ‘You like it though,’ Claire said.
‘You’ll know you’re in love when being around them never feels long enough. Everything you learn about them will be beautiful pockets of information, no matter how flawed. Your hands will be clammy, and you’ll trip over your words when you’re around them. But if they love you back, they’ll only think it makes you lovelier.’
To be close to you was to be haunted by what I couldn’t have and to be reminded of how much I truly wanted you
Am I a ghost in your story?
I feel lucky to have had you, but dismayed to know what life is like without you
Just because one person says no, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.’
You have to do the scary stuff to get to the good stuff, remember?’
‘I’ll buy you flowers every day for the rest of my life if it makes you this happy.’
If hearts were meant to love, then why did mine feel so empty?
‘If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?’ He looked at me like he truly wanted to know, like my answer would mean something. There was always this sense of comforting safety in his voice. It was safe to tell the truth. So I did, even if it felt like telling your enemy where you hid your knives. ‘Love,’ I exhaled; that answer had been as easy as letting the sun pour over my face after a brutal New York winter. Love existed in all of my daydreams. ‘I want an all-consuming love. Not one that suffocates, but one that makes me so thankful that my chest feels physically
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Maybe you weren’t mine to love
I didn’t know which was harder: to be told you deserved love from someone who wasn’t in love with you, or to pretend like they’d never said it at all.
When his lips met mine, my shoulder deflated, and I tasted our salty tears as he groaned at the contact. He was surprised, hesitating. But it was only a moment before he realized what I had started. And when he reacted, my body relaxed and woke up simultaneously. I had only kissed him once before, but it was enough to know I never wanted to kiss another man again. No one else had compared.
‘What’s his book called again?’ ‘Oh, I’m actually not sure.’ I’d never translated the French title, no matter how long I stared at the book. ‘Something wordy with a flower in it…’ ‘Well, I’m just going to go now. I’m happy you were able to pick—’ ‘That’s it! That’s it! Picking Daisies on Sundays.’
My heart has been broken a million times by the same hand, yet I would let it happen a million times again if it meant it was by you
‘What are you saying?’ ‘I’m saying that if I knew four years ago that you loved me, I would’ve never let you go.’
My heart has been broken a million times by the same hand, yet I would let it happen a million times again if it meant it was by you I was weaker than I thought / My heart sagging like the stems of uncut, unkempt flowers because of the sunlight you held in your faraway heart / Maybe you weren’t mine to love / I think I’m falling 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 / I wish I felt the confidence to tell you the truth, as strongly as I felt stubborn to hide it Do you hear that? That’s my
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‘The whole book,’ he breathed. ‘Every poem in there is about you. Everything I wrote came back to you.’
‘My favorite flowers were always daisies,’ he said in a dreamy state. I shielded my face in the crook of his neck. Flowers were growing in my heart and sprouting through my chest. He loves me. ‘So you think my hair always looks stupidly perfect?’ he asked. I blushed before laughing. ‘I hate you,’ I muttered. ‘You love me,’ he argued. ‘I do.’ I succumbed.
‘I did make us dinner reservations for the day we get there.’ My heart stopped and my head whipped up. ‘What?’ ‘I’m coming to Paris with you.’ ‘You’re going to fly in with me?’ I asked with hope. ‘No, baby. I’m moving to Paris with you.’
‘Because when you find out the person you’ve been in love with for your entire life loves you back, you’ll spend the rest of your life making up for lost time.’
Why can I still hear your voice when you’re not here?
No one tells you how much losing someone feels like inheriting a dream. Because that’s what thinking of him felt like: a dream. For him to have been here for decades, and then only to exist in my pictures and memories. I’d like to imagine that if I hadn’t developed object permanence as a child, then maybe my mind would’ve had an easier time accepting that he wasn’t here anymore.
At sixteen, I fell in love with Levi when he drove me home from work, letting me sleep in the passenger’s seat, despite only being a short walk away. I fell in love with him when he twirled his finger around strands of my hair while we talked in the cafeteria, like it was an unquestionable habit. I fell in love with him as I watched him bake for his sisters and chased them around the living room during movie nights. I fell in love with him for who he was. At twenty-two, I fell in love with him because of how he made me feel.
My heart was jumping in my chest at the sight of the handsome, loving man in front of me. A thousand flower petals falling to the bottom of my stomach. ‘That sounds perfect.’ ‘Ready to go home?’ he asked. ‘With you? Always.’
Kissing her felt like night swimming in a summer ocean. Oh. Oh God. ‘Daisy,’ I moaned. My Daisy. The way her hands gripped my hair and the way her waist felt under my grip. It was home, she was home. How did you tell someone that you wanted this every day, every morning, hour, and night of your life?
Her lips pressed against my cheek and her hand left mine. I don’t even remember taking her hand. But just like that it was gone. And she was rushing down the stairs, her long dress dragging behind her like an ocean wave in a storm, leaving me stranded.
