the other day, he gave me a bunch of bougainvillaea with a goofy smile and we cycled all the way up the hill. it was perched on my basket the whole time, of which he kept stealing glances cutely.
he then one day, took me to this tiny cafe at the end of the street and got me the best chai ever. he pointed out to my foam moustache and I bubbled with embarrassment. he gave me daisies that day and told me that I looked pretty nevertheless.
we walked long distances, seldom brushing against each other that sparked bolts inside of me. he kept plucking wildflowers all along the way, tied them up and shyly gave it to me and waved bye. I giggled like a schoolgirl.
the other day, we sat together in silence watching the sun paint the sky with its magic before it hid. he brought me lilies, it smelled of endings that were bitter and beautiful.
one afternoon, I was cuddled up wanting to disappear. he came home with a book and a sunflower. he read to me until I slept peacefully with little snores.
the last time we met, he brought me a beautiful tiny little flower. he said he grew it in his garden, and it was the first baby flower from the plant. I didn’t ask for its name.
because I named it, love.