‘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.
