Maybe it was the innocent smile playing on her cracked lips. Maybe it was the way her cheeks turned pink from the slightest compliment, making her splattered freckles stand out even more against her small face. Or maybe it was the way she looked at me, pupils riddled with stories, with adventures, not yet tainted with life's nightmares. I could keep going, so many reasons as to why she is absolutely flawless in my broken irises. Somehow she managed to become something I loved, the first of all. And now I find myself trying to answer the questions of how.
I love her. And for once, I am sure that it is not anything less than honesty. The way I know? The butterflies erupting in my intestines, the way my heartbeat increases rapidly at the sight of her. She is safe, pure, content. In a way, she is similar to lavender. Correction, she is lavender, no doubt in my veins about that. My lavender.
