book club

twenty-four || daises

"Lea, are you scared to die?" Harry's quiet voice calls.

I shake my head. "No, not really. You?"

"Yeah... Scares the shit out of me," He lets out a shaky breath and rests his arm over his eyes.

I pick a flower off the plant next to me and sit up, setting the daisy on his exposed stomach. He squints his eyes at the sun and smiles at me, a bright, pearly white smile that is beautiful.

"Don't think about it then." I suggest.

The birds nestled in the bright green trees around us are singing in a synchronized euphony. Tufts of pollen float in the gentle breeze. The field of daisies sway around us, a virgin ocean of white.

"Ever since I read that book," Harry sits up and brushes the dust off his shirt. "I just keep having nightmares about it."

I pull my hair into an elastic and cross my legs under my cotton dress. "Nightmares about what?"

"Of dying. Of losing you."

I frown and lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead. The hair band is pulled from my hair, leaving russet tangles to frame my face.

"I like your hair better down." He smiles softly, pushing the rubber band up my wrist.

Harry reaches behind him and pulls out his white camera, one of those enviously hipster ones that print out the pictures on contact. He's only used it two times before, and both of the photographs are of us.

"Let me take a picture of you." He says, setting a daisy chain on my head.

"Wait, knock knock."

I roll my eyes. "Jokes? Now?"

Harry laughs. "Just go with it."

"Alright," I say. "Who's there?"

"A cow goes."

"A cow goes who?"

"No," He smirks. "A cow goes moo."

I burst out laughing, not necessarily because his joke is funny, but rather, his smile and how he's trying so hard not to laugh at his stupid joke that I know he thinks is hilarious.

The click of the camera goes off right when my eyes fall shut and my nose crinkles up, my mouth turning up into a grin. Harry is staring at the photograph after it as developed, smiling at it with bright eyes.

"You look so cute. I love your little freckles." He admires the photograph, tucking it in his pocket.

"I love you." I admit.

I've spent too long trying to find a word deeper than love. I love him, more than just simply love him; I adore him. I've scavenged my mind, searching for a greater, more symbolic antonym for the word 'love'. It occurred to me that there is nothing more soul-binding between two people than the three words, 'I love you'. There is no greater honor than being loved. There is nothing you can say, nor do, that compares to uttering these words. Not only saying them, but meaning them too. These few words without feeling are simply lost mumbles in the wind.

As if Harry can read my mind, he says to me: "I love you. I love you so much and I wish there was more I could do to prove my worth."

"Do you want to go?" I ask.

He nods and helps me up from the seated position on the grassy ground.

"You have dirt all over your jeans." I announce.

He looks over his shoulder at his backside and swears, pleading for me to brush the dust off. I reluctantly comply, punching him in the shoulder when he makes a crude comment about me touching his butt.