Rosemary

I hope it's you and me in the end

𓃔

You are flowers in my stomach. Cutting me
open nightly, blooming through the cracks of the ribs.

Rosemary ୨୧   Gilmore Girls

       To be loved is to be consumed.

     If this was any way to describe the abstruse and unknown feeling that was shoved down Roslyn Blanchet's throat ever since he arrived in town, it was safe for her to say with confidence that she felt as if she was being consumed to the point of suffocation, and she couldn't find it in herself to complain. How could she complain when a consumption such as this one had merely felt like pure heaven to her? There was no other way for her to describe how it felt to have love's overwhelming warmth embraced and seeped into her skin like heat on the hottest summer day. If this was what it felt like to be suffocated, she never wanted to breathe fresh air again.

She knew what it felt like to be loved. It'd be impossible for her not to having Adrien Blanchet as her father. She found it comforting that regardless of the man's consistent absence within their home due to his time-consuming job, he still so effortlessly never failed to make sure he gave out all the love he had to give and spread it evenly between his three children, even the oldest Blanchet, despite her being gone and away for college. Adrien had so much love to give to his children that it had only left them overflowing with more love to pour out onto others like harsh rain on a cloudy day.

Roslyn knew what it felt like to love and be loved, but what she didn't know was what it felt like to love and to be loved. To love in terms of consumption. She didn't know what it felt like to be consumed by love—to be consumed by him. She didn't know what it felt like to love him. To radiate with inexhaustible light. To endure. She didn't know what felt like to love to no extent.