𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹 𝑰 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑬𝑹
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐈 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘
The worst part about all of this, though, wasn't the love, or the fact that it was Daisy, the person I was supposed to hate, no. It was the fact that even...
Before I knew Daisy — truly knew her, I thought she was a stuck up brat that didn't deserve an ounce of love. But then I realized that she needed all the love a person could handle, because unlike many, Daisy was robbed of ever experiencing the annoyingly exhausting pain that came with love, but also the beautifully, raw emotional, attachment of the ethereal artwork that was loving someone.
No, I hadn't ever loved a person. But I now was beginning to believe someday I would, I also had faith Daisy would love someone too. Just now realizing this, I was worried that I was going to be that person for her, and she was going to be that person for me.
Unfortunately, I wasn't hating the idea. Not an inch, not a bit, not even a smidge. In fact, I adored the idea of Daisy Bardot loving me. I was mesmerized and overthrown just like everyone else by the beauty that came with her. But instead of all that beauty being on the outside, I saw the pure innocence inside of her too — every inch. And I would love, appreciate, and respect every bit of her. Not because she was Daisy Bardot, the most popular girl in our school, or because she was the golden girl of our town, or if she was the governors daughter — I wouldn't even do it for my mother. But I'm doing this for myself and her.
I liked Daisy Bardot- no, I loved Daisy Bardot. I loved her so much my stomach hurled inside and out, my heart thrashing around, prepared to escape and run straight into her hands. That is how Daisy made me feel. Daisy freaking Bardot turned me into a manic, causing me to go insane every minute I was without her. I hated that. I envied that. I felt like I couldn't properly breathe until she was in the room, I couldn't even move without her assistance. That was so pathetic. Daisy made me pathetic, lovesick, all the words in the dictionary that described a person who's finally found their other half, and only just now realizing it after months of screaming, angsty, scenes.
The worst part about all of this, though, wasn't the love, or the fact that it was Daisy, the person I was supposed to hate, no. It was the fact that even though my entire body and soul loved her more than words could ever be described, Daisy would never love me back. She told me herself that she'd never love someone at this age. But if I had to wait years for Daisy to love me, I would. That's how much I loved her. I'd sacrifice everything for this girl, because I loved her.
I love you, Daisy. I love you, I love you, I love you. I could repeat those words in my head for days with no end, and they'd never get old. Just like loving Daisy would never get old. Saying those words felt like a fresh dip in the ocean, or the satisfying sound of a crisp can opening, or the breeze I'd feel when holding tightly onto her as we drove down the coast on her dad's motorcycle. Those words — those three words felt like a death wish, but the best type of one. The type of one that even though you might regret it in the future, you'll forever hold them in your heart like a precious memory. Daisy was a precious memory.
My precious memory.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
