Daisy didn't like boys. 

Daisy liked the snow, and the way galaxies spilt their intestines like bleeding caterpillars across the blanket of the sky. 

Daisy didn't like girls. 

She liked tea, and the way the different brews breathed out their souls in an eddying mass of scent. 

Daisy didn't like people. 

But she liked watching them rush around, hair in matted confusion as the wind unrelentingly whipped at the heated curls. 

Daisy didn't like anyone. 

But she liked the sun, and loved the rain, and buried herself in the infinite blanket on her bed and listened to it pound ceaselessly against the tin roof. 

Daisy didn't like herself. 

She liked hot chocolate though, and maybe that counted for something.