Picking Daisies on Sundays

by Liana Cincotti

For the hopeless, and hopeful, romantics who don’t know they’re noticed in a crowded room.

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

‘I wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful because you are. I knew I wouldn’t miss you when you walked in tonight because you’re you. You’re so physically enthralling, let alone when you speak. And when you speak, all of the light in the room comes from you. You’re absolute sunshine and spring. I could watch you—’

And yet, I still couldn’t help but compare myself to all the women around us.

‘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.’

‘You intoxicate me, Daisy. The scent of flowers lingers on you everywhere you go, and I always want to follow,’

‘I want to be noticed in a crowded room. I want to be the only person in a crowded room. I want to be wanted, truly wanted, and desired. I want to laugh and to sing and to dance with someone and not feel self-conscious over it because I love them and I’m confident that they love me. I want to be touched and kissed and held, because I’ve forgotten what it feels like… and yet, I think I deserve it.’

I didn’t think my body was good enough. It hurt to know someone could see through me so easily.