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“Fine, no babiesinyou…” I climb on top of her, her legs opening wide to let me in. “Your tits then. I’ll put babies on your tits.”
She laughs and the sound shifts everything around us until I feel my lifeclickinto place. From the instant she agreed to be mine, I’ve felt thatclickin all of our moments. It’s a funny thing, having more love inside you than you know what to do with. A love so intensely deep and profound, itchangesthe way you see colors, hear sounds, and feel—both inside and out.
My mother said I would never have love, that it didn’t exist. But that was only true forher. What I didn’t understand then, what I wholly feel in every crease of my fiber now, is that love only exists when you meet the person who’s meant to evoke it in you.
Love exists. Like the trees exist. And hunger and the stars exist. It’s a palpable thing that both adds weight in your heart and makes you weightless equally. It’s a watercolor of emotions and moments and experiences that are waiting for you if you just open up to it.
I didn’t get it then. I was too stuck, too damaged to let myself feel it.
Then I found Winter Sommers, the woman with two seasons for a name.
Love fucking exists. I get it now.
THE END.
