No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.

daisy crowns, pondering human minds and morals, and ink stains

I close the door of our dorm room and slide down against it.

Thinking. Just thinking.

I had a lecture today. It was fascinating, on humanism. One of my favorite topics for my favorite class.

I love learning about the mind. It's so complex and hard to understand, but it can explain every single human behavior and why we think the way we do and our morals. How we fall in love and how music affects us and everything.

My mind feels like it's moving at the speed of sound. Three hundred forty meters per second and somehow not fast enough. I feel the urge to soak up everything I can about all this.

My hands start to shake. I need to do something.

I need to write. I spring up, grab the nearest notebook (I have quite a few just lying around), and head out the door.

I sit underneath the willow tree and breathe. No one can see me, so I don't risk people being around and interrupting. It's warm out, and I'm relieved. I'm only in one of Annabelle's tank tops and some jeans.

I twist the pen out of my bun and my hair brushes down onto my shoulders.

I know exactly what I'll write. Not how to word it, but I just know this will be something that makes you think. Those are the best stories.

I need to put my thoughts into little stories about flowers and dragons and pretty girls. Where the questions aren't explicitly stated, but you think. You think, and you think.

And it clicks.

So does my pen.

It goes a lot slower than my mind. My writing is messy and smeared because I don't have time for ink to dry.

I write. I write and I write until evening has arrived. (I have no idea what time it is actually because I don't have my phone.) I've filled up thirteen and three-quarters pages. When I look back on it, I can't read most of the words. But I know what they are.

And I actually think it's quite clever. Usually I think my writing as some sort of dumpster fire of random words, but this is delicate and subtle.

Writing with Annabelle has definitely improved my style. It's clear to me from the difference.

Just thinking about Annabelle, with her rich skin and plump lips and lovely eyes and heavy hips and soft clothes, makes me smile and curl a daisy in the grass around my index finger.

Daisies remind me of Annabelle. She always doodles them on my paper. And before I know it, I'm picking daisies left and right and tying them together.

Jacob taught me how to tie a flower crown two years ago. I guess the memory stuck. I tuck my feet underneath my thighs and just braid the stems.

I'm so focused on my creation that I don't hear footsteps behind me. But I do look up at the person who fell down next to me, sitting criss-cross applesauce.

It's Annabelle. In Jacob's Asking Alexandria shirt and a knee-length yellow skirt. (None of us really pay attention to which clothes are whose. We're all down with sharing.)

I nod at her shirt. "You like Asking Alexandria?"

She looks down at it, then back up at me and smiles. "Yeah, they're one of my favorite bands." We just look at each other. She looks so pretty in the light.

"What're you doing?" she asks. I guess my ink-smeared left hand offers that I've been writing. I hold it up almost apologetically, and she grins.

"Can I read it?"

I shake my head. "No, I want this to be a surprise."

"Fair enough, darling." I blush at the nickname, and look down at my hands, which are absentmindedly twirling the flower crown I tied.

I sit up a bit and lean forward, placing it on top of her soft curls. She crosses her eyes and looks up at it. I sit back and admire my handiwork. I swear Annabelle is the most resplendent person I have ever had the fortune to meet. A fond smile reaches every part of her beautiful face when she realizes what it is I gave her.

"Wait, how'd you know daisies are my favorite flower?" she asks, confused. "I don't remember telling you." I kind of melt into her gaze, because of course daisies are her favorite flower -- what else for someone so simple and complex and lovely?

"I didn't," I tell her honestly. "But they were here, and seeing them does make me think of you, because you do draw them everywhere."

"Aw, you're so sweet."

I blush and look down. She reaches out and lifts my chin back up, pouting. "Don't hide your face, sweetheart. I wanna see it."

I turn a darker color but hold her stare. She starts playing with my hair, and eventually turns me around and pulls me against her so she can have better access to it.

"Your hair is really soft," she whispers in my ear.

"I'm glad you like it," I reply, giggling. Her touch sends shivers down my spine and sets my nerves on fire, but at the same time I'm more at ease than I've been in a while. I feel my tense muscles dissolving at her familiar scent and touch. That headache that began to form from thinking a little too much melts away, leaving only a pleasant hum.

I hear the snap of something that sounds like a camera, but I don't really pay attention to it.

Before I realize it, I've fallen asleep. I only come to this conclusion much later, when I wake up in my dorm room around five in the morning. Jenna's passed out on her bed, still in my hoodie.

The feelings of when she was next to me are a little faded, but still present.

I drag my laptop onto my chest and open it up, quickly turning the brightness to the lowest setting before resting it at an awkward angle under my chin (or lack thereof). I see there's been a new post on Annabelle's blog. It feels kinda funny now that I know the person who made all those posts.

It's a Polaroid. Of me and her. I'm looking up at the camera through heavy, half-lidded eyes and she's beaming down at me with the daisy crown on her hair.

To my love is the caption, and I'm smiling like an idiot when I read it.

I screenshot it the picture and put it as Annabelle's contact photo in my phone.

I just look at it happily until I fall back asleep.

a/n: happy valentine's day!

 i know i don't update on tuesdays but i thought y'all'd like fluff so here you go

also anecdote that has nothing to do w/anything and isn't really an anecdote bc it's not funny: i love weeping willows so much; there used to be one by my house and i loved it a lot but it got knocked down for a parking lot :/ i'd love to live somewhere with willow trees in the future