the memory of her had become my anchor whenever I’d felt myself slipping back into the dark. It wasn’t just
how I’d loved her. She’d woken up my hunger for life and made me
believe, deep down, that 

A second-chance love story for soft-hearted readers

The bee girl’s eyes softened. “You trust me?” 

I could still say no. Deny it. But she was full of light, and like
a sunflower, I couldn’t help but yield to her. My body spoke for
me anyway; I sat with my legs spread, palms open, face upturned.
There was no use lying when trust was written all over me.

Still, my heart beat in my skull, and my skin pulled tight everywhere, anticipation like a drug. I wanted to let her want me. To  see me. I wanted the crush of another person’s skin reassuring me that I wasn’t alone.

“Yes,” I whispered. I wasn’t usually one for faith, but she made
me want to believe in something bigger than my own broken
pieces.