Honey bees swirl and twirl around sunflowers in the summer time. A sunshine shade of a love story dances underneath. They're messy and clumsy but it doesn't matter because the way they feel isn't. Love letters are passed across classrooms and flowers are picked and sneaked from neighbours' garden beds. And now they dance - stepping on toes, laughing and falling deeper as each blush blooms. It's innocent, light lavenders and harmless blues, but it's still a risk, to fall, is it not? Young and delicately reckless, they ignore, they love, they dance.
We look, in the home we made together, forgotten by us both and now filled with the gloom of greys and icy shadows. Yet, flicking the pages on old memories, the sunshine shade begins to lighten the room and brighten your eyes. I remember that spark. You look at me with a mischievous grin, as cheeky as love letters across classrooms and flowers stolen from old men we despised. Why do we let them worry, break, stay quiet, when our hearts are here to love? So you take me outside to the garden we made together, finding that it was still loved by us both. Underneath sunflowers, by the honey bees, in the summer time, we dance.