Sunflower Love

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Love is real. I've seen it in the way my parents look at one another. Felt it as I read one of the millions of books stacked in my closet. I truly believe it is real. And I'd bet everything on it. My sister swears that I'm foolish and I allow myself to fall down this never-ending hole into my own wonderland. She tells me all the time...

"If love is real," Sweeping her hair aside and glaring at me, "then why do people cheat, break up, or fight with one another?"

She leaves before I can even defend my side of this. I always scoff to myself and whisper the same thing after her, hoping one day it'll reach her heart.

"If people can fall in love, then surely they can fall out of it."

I desperately grasp at its tangibility, but I despise the hold it has over me. The way it squeezes my chest when I read the heartbreak of another or the way it pulls at the edges of my lips at the sweetest of phrases. I both dream of and shy away from the very existence of love.

Sunflowers grow and are usually cut once fully grown. They're marvelous flowers. Bright and magical, plus they smell absolutely wonderful. The catch is that once they're cut they might never come back, but if they do they'll never be quite as beautiful as they were when they first blossomed.

My Sunflower loves came in all forms...

When I was 10, this boy named Michael motioned for me to duck under the desk during quiet reading time. I followed his instructions and leaned in as he whispered in my ear that he thought I was pretty. A simple flutter of my heart had me ducking out from under the table and excusing myself to the nurse's office so I could go home early. Michael never called me pretty ever again.

Now Michael is 24 and has a beautiful wife and a baby girl on the way while he heads a local restaurant franchise that he took over from his dad.

When I was 14, a girl that was my partner in Bio used to come in with the biggest smile on her face. She'd share all about how much she adored bugs of all kinds, I'd find myself actually intrigued with her stories and drawings she had of these creatures. She had a pretty smile. But on the last day of bio before summer vacation, she brought a present for me, and at the absolute last second of class...she pressed a kiss to my cheek and thanked me while blushing as she quickly exited the room.

The neatly wrapped present withheld five small frames each holding a different bug. I didn't recognize any of them, but a note hidden beneath these frames told me that these bugs reminded her of me. In her words, "Always changing, constantly evolving" and at the very end, she wrote her number. On the back, she thanked me again for listening and being her partner in the class. But then she said that she liked me...like liked me, asking me to send her a message if I would like to continue things but in a more romantic light, or don't text her and that she'd understand.

So...I didn't text her. I had no idea if my feelings were ones of gratitude or infatuation or more, so I didn't want to send mixed signals. But I kept those five bugs. They've come with me even after 10 years have passed, currently hanging across the strip of wall above my closet and her little note card is pinned to the calendar hanging above the bookshelf in my office...With the words 'Always changing, constantly evolving' highlighted.

Don't worry. She's doing well. Her pretty smile is always very much apparent and so so hard to miss as I scroll Instagram. She just got married last year and they recently got approved to be a foster home. Their first child is a 10-year-old boy who smiles almost as brightly as she did when she walked into class that first day of Bio.

And my last almost brush with love, was the ever-so-charming Liam. 22, tall, on the swim team, and didn't even bother to hide the flirty lines that he threw my way every moment he could. We happened to be in the same photography seminar. I would try my best with taking photos of our assignments and he...well, he took photos of me the whole seminar. Just imagine my reaction when he went up to present his work during the first ground meeting and his five photos were of me.

I tried to run from him the whole time, but he was so good at being right. there.

He was cute. He was sweet. His photos were breathtaking. My heart burned. Damn it always did. But I ran, like the coward I was and still very much am. At the end of the seminar, he asked me why I didn't like my photo being taken. Assuming that was why I ran and not because of my feelings being too present. I tried to explain, but I froze and couldn't get through the words. He didn't mind and gave me one last charming smile before slipping a memory chip onto my desk and wishing me luck after graduation.

Liam still swims. Giving lessons on the weekend. He has a girlfriend and is a freelance photographer, taking photos anywhere and everywhere. On his portfolio page, his cover photo is still a photo he took during that seminar. One of which catches a look that I've only ever seen on anyone and everyone except myself before. A look of love as I read one of the many books during that three-month-long seminar.

Occasionally, I find myself clicking through those photos. Seeing myself from someone else's perspective, hoping...grasping at the me that I've never experienced.

Love is real. Even if I've never experienced it fully.