When You Left

12

10. 24. 13

We were at the bookshop on the corner when you first told me you loved me. I remember it vividly, a picture painted permanently in my mind.

I was standing in the mystery section by the C’s and running my hands along the spines of the new books, the ones with cracked binding, and the ones that looked like they’d been read a hundred times. And I remember thinking, ‘wow, look at all the C authors who have written these books.’ And I was somehow fascinated by that.

And then you came striding up to me from somewhere in the non-fiction section wearing that hideous mustard yellow sweater your mom bought for you that Christmas. You had a look of determination on your face; your jaw set, and your sandy eyes ablaze. I dropped my hand from the spines to look at you, my head still wrapping its self around all of the C authors.

Then you blurted out those three goddamn words like you physically couldn’t hold them in any longer. Like they had been resting on your tongue for days just trying to get out. Your eyes grew large in shock of having the words tumble out and your face was an adorable shade of red, but your eyes weren’t laced in regret like I thought they would be. Instead, they swam in relief and they were filled with so much warmth and love that I felt my whole body heat up from those eight letters.

It was my first time hearing them. Ever. But, I don’t think you knew that.

But, you had no expectations because you knew that expectations led to disappointment. In fact, you acted as if you were sure I wouldn’t say them back, and you were right.

Instead, I did the only thing I could think of doing. I grabbed your face between my hands and kissed you with all the words I couldn’t say.

It wasn’t even nearly romantic or one for the history books, but it was us. Spontaneous and rash, but oh so passionate and heart-felt. And I honestly don’t think I have ever been as happy as I was in that moment.

I also remember in great detail, the last time you said I love you. It was over two years since the first time you blurted those words out.

It was a Sunday morning -a day we both had off- and we were tangled up in our sheets, legs intertwined, my hair splayed across the pillow, and our naked bodies huddled close together for warmth.

You were doing that thing you used to do that I love so much; where you run your fingers up and down my spine languidly. Each lap on my back, making my hair stand on end and causing fire to lick up and down my veins.

I had my eyes closed as you blissfully worked your magic and when I opened them, your eyes were on me. The sandy iris’ light and swimming in warmth and, oddly, sadness. At the time, I hadn’t had a thought to ask what was wrong, but now I wish I had.

I smiled at you and stuck my tongue out playfully, oblivious to what you were harboring behind your iris’. You chuckled lightly and sat up on your elbow, removing your hand from my back, only to bring it up to my face. Your calloused fingers traced the outline of my lips, the curve of my cheeks, played with the length of my eyelashes, and danced with my freckles. It was as if you were filing every part of my face into your brain, like sketching a map of it in your mind. As if you were examining every detail to remember me.

“You’re so fucking stunning, you know that? And it’s the least interesting thing about you.”

Your voice was like a lullaby and you went back to tracing my spine, while I could feel myself drifting off into sleep. Your hand movements became slower and slower and I was slipping in and out of consciousness. I felt your lips brush my forehead, your minty breath tickling my hair. The last thing I remember, was the whisper of those words carrying me into sleep.

“I love you.”

And then the next day, you left me.

I’m okay,

Daisy

A/N: So, Daisy may or may not have run in with Parker in the next chapter hmm (;