There’s no place I’d rather be, than right here. There is nobody I’d rather be, than this version of myself who was lucky enough to meet her.
I bathe in the generous bounty of spring, seated on soft, slightly wet grass, with the love of my life next to me. All the while, the sun emits gentle rays of comforting warmth, and pink petals dance to the melody of spring.
I feel her hand atop mine, a soft squeeze. And I look at her then. Her strawberry blond hair wafts in the wind, and the odor of her shampoo fills the air with a smell of rose and citrus.
She turns to meet my gaze, and in response, I turn my head to the other side, chuckling softly.
“Hey, that’s not fair. C’mon, look at me.”
I remain quiet, letting my gaze linger on a point beyond the horizon, while, in truth, the entirety of my consciousness was directed at her.
“Hmm, okay then, let me just do this…”
Our physical bond shatters as she removes her hand from mine, but I let it not be so for long, for I gently guide it back where it belongs. Squeezing it tenderly and making my best impression of the famed puppy eyes.
“Okay, fine, I confess. I was looking at you in secret. Forgive me?”
She pouts with her lips in a slight, coy manner, supposedly having doubts about whether or not to forgive. But I have been through this ravel of ours enough times by now to know she jests.
“Let me show you how sincere I am.”
I let my forehead fall onto hers, our noses almost touching.
Then, I whisper.
“I am so sorry, berry.”
“Hey!”
“Auch, was that too much?” I say, retreating to give her space.
“Yes, you could say that…”
She cocks her head slightly and swirls her hair playfully, and now it is her time to whisper:
“At least wait until we’re alone.”
Time becomes naught. It’s like her words cover me in a cocoon of warmth, an entirely verbal embrace, and yet so powerful.
I stay like that until the sound of her laughter breaks the spell.
“I’ve got you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?”
She sticks out her tongue playfully, teasingly. Yet, I know she is as embarrassed as me and is merely trying to hide it behind a facade.
I lean down to steal a peck at her cheek, and I revel in the way she blushes, the slight redness that spreads across her face as the realization passes.
“Wrapped around your finger, was it?”
She furrows her brows.
In return, I smile. And she smiles back at me, leaning onto my shoulder.
I stretch my arm around her back, drawing her close into an embrace.
And, as a sudden stream of wind shakes the tree, we are covered in a shroud of pink petals.
Benjamin Bratz 