I loved her in all the complicated ways a flower thrives in a garden. I loved the way she tended to me like I was somethin’ precious and not monstrous. I loved the way she wore blooms in her hair and inked into her skin ’cause she spoke the language of flowers better than the language of men, and she’d always been so in sync with her surroundin’s. I loved the way she turned her face up to me as if seekin’ sunlight, needin’ the warmth of my praise and presence to grow and thrive. It was a heady fuckin’ thing, bein’ someone’s sunshine, their rain, their entire ecosystem.
