Lovelight Farms

I’m going to love her in all the quiet ways, the slow ways, the loud and obnoxious ways.

And isn’t it silly, to love the way someone’s things look like next to yours? Little bits and pieces of a life lived in parallel.

Leaning on other people doesn't make your achievements any less yours, La La. You can trust me to help you carry the load. You don't have to do all of this alone. I know you can take of yourself. You've been doing that as long as I've known you. But let me hold your hand while you do it, okay?

People get too caught up in how things look instead of how things feel,

Let it be known that telling a woman to relax has never once resulted in said relaxation.

It’s hard to love someone without restraint. To give yourself over to the swell and pull of it without fear of what might happen. I think it’s only natural to hold a part of yourself back and protect what you can.

Luka filled the empty places in my life slowly, carefully, with his easy smile and stupid jokes. He brought me back to myself. And it’s been that way ever since.

Why are we slow dancing?” Luka rests his chin on top of my head. “This is how my parents argued,” he confesses quietly, a grin in his voice. “Or I guess, this is how they had big conversations. My dad said he liked to keep my mom close, but I really think he wanted a way to politely restrain her.

You’re not always going to know what the right thing is,” he had said. “When that happens, you continue.

No hello. No how are you. Just, wanna go get a grilled cheese?

We should remember those who have left us with fondness. Speaking of them keeps their memory alive.

There’s a special kind of magic on nights like this, a certain sort of nostalgia when the past intermingles with the present and flirts with the future.

If kissing him in the snow was magic then this is—this is sugarplum fairies and toffee brittle crunch on top of dark chocolate cupcakes.

He looks like sugar and spice and everything not so nice, sleep rumpled and flushed in my bed.

Moments frozen in time throughout the years, always just for a second or two. But it has always been enough to make me feel like maybe he might want me the same way I’ve always wanted him. More than a friend.

he’s tradition and familiarity. He is homemade pop tarts on the first Saturday of the month. He is late-night viewings of Die Hard in the sticky summer heat, both of our phones propped up on our respective coffee tables. He is pizza with extra mushrooms and light sauce, a crust that has to be perfect.

He’s staring at me with a cocky grin kicking up his mouth. Oh, to have the confidence of a young white man.

He pushes his head into my hand, closing his eyes. “Leaning on other people doesn’t make your achievements any less yours, La La.

He’s saying a million things with that look, I just can’t hear what they are.

I’ve never been kissed like this before, with the night sky pressing down on me and Luka everywhere else.

I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve been doing that as long as I’ve known you. But let me hold your hand while you do it, okay?

Honey,” her eyes trip back and forth between my own, a sad smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “Just because you let yourself love someone, doesn't mean they’re going to leave.

It’s like the North Pole had a love child with Hogwarts! I want to live here forever!

I’ve been thinking about kissing you all week,” I feel him say against my lips. That’s nice. I’ve been thinking about kissing him since I was twenty-three.

I need you to date me,” I blurt out. My palms are sweating, my heart is somewhere in my throat, and my stomach has completely removed itself from the conversation. Luka, for his part, doesn’t so much as flinch. He just calmly twirls his fork around and around, collecting the world’s longest spaghetti noodle. “Okay.” He pops his fork into his mouth.

I don’t believe in fate, or kismet, or any rule or reason to the universe and all its random, wonderful, terrible happenings. But I do believe I found Luka when I needed him the most, and I like to think my mom played a part in that. It’s a comfort.

It’s my favorite time of year, this in between of fall and winter. It’s feels like the whole world is holding its breath. Stillness and sweetness, all rolled into one.

Wanted to,” he mumbles. Pink touches the tips of his ears. “I missed—I missed home, and I couldn’t sleep, so I just drove back.

I guess I thought owning a Christmas tree farm would be romantic.