I am so very excited about our new 'Creative' category. Creative writing is my absolute passion, and something I am constantly striving to get better at. I encourage you to leave feedback on all my posts, especially my creative ones. This is the first short story I will be sharing and one that I actually submitted for assessment at university. Enjoy!

Daisy is moon pale and star dust beautiful and pieces of her being resemble black holes. I did not know I was searching, but now I chase her like sunflowers chase the sun. And she is the sun. And she is sunflowers. And she is equal parts rainbows and rain. And she is equal parts diamond and glass. Daisy Elaine Wiley- heart thief.

  I can’t grow a beard in any shape other than an oval around my mouth. I have legs that would make supermodels jealous, except that I am a twenty one year old male, so I do not appreciate my anatomy. I feel so small even though I am six feet tall. I also have pieces of my being that resemble black holes, but because I am not beautiful, no one is romanticising my sadness. And anyway, I’ve already found my cure- Daisy Elaine Wiley.

  Tonight she called me crying because Idiot Number 8 just broke up with her. I am used to these calls and I can’t say I don’t wait by the phone for them. We are have a very unbalanced friendship. Imagine a sea saw where there’s a thousand kilo weight on my side. So Daisy’s heartbroken again, and I guess I feel like I’m always holding this metaphorical super glue waiting for her to ask if she can use it. But she never does. We’re on the phone but all I can hear is Daisy sobbing so I tell her I’ll come over to keep her company.

  There were seven idiots before Idiot Number 8. That’s seven weepy breakups- seven people I’ve watched come and go from a place I really want to be. Not one of the seven times have I thought to ‘make a move’ as they say. No big confessions of my undying love, no flowers, no chocolates, no grand gestures. That’s seven missed opportunities, seven regrets, and seven reasons I can’t feel asleep at night. I decide tonight needs to be different. I need to do something.

  Daisy and I hang out a lot, but not in the way I would like. I’m a good listener, and she likes to talk. She tells me about anything and everything, but mostly about her relationships. I have heard every detail of every relationship she’s ever had, and I never tell her it makes me uncomfortable. Mostly because I like hearing her talk. And also because if we ever dated, I’d know what not to do. That list basically includes not putting anyone else before her. Also, Idiot Number 3 made sure ‘not kissing Daisy’s friends’ went on the list. I hate seeing her get hurt.

One night, in the small interval between Idiot Number 4 and 5, Daisy got wasted and kissed me right on the mouth. She told me she’s sick of getting hurt, and I thought (but didn’t say) that I would never hurt her. The next morning she pretended it never happened. So I did too. And my lips have never forgotten the way her’s feel. And my heart has never forgotten, either.

  I have a car that is twenty years older than I am. I am constantly filling her interior with smoke, much like my lungs. I start her up and hear that familiar, slightly worrying engine noise. The imperfection is comforting. I named my car Fern because she is green and hearty.

  So what does someone that has suddenly decided he needs to let out four years of probably unrequited love do? I stop at Woolworths and buy a thirty five dollar bunch of flowers (after making sure there were daisies in there), I buy chocolates and a card that has a picture of two match sticks on the front and says ‘we’d make a perfect match.’

  I arrive outside Daisy’s house, and as I pull up the hand brake, I feel a sickening combination of anxiety and butterflies in my chest. I see her all the time but rarely when she’s single. Am I a bad person? Don’t answer that. I realise I’ve been sitting in my car for close to five minutes. I put out my cigarette as I accidentally slam the car door. It feels good to make noise. I make more noise when I knock on her door. I am holding flowers in one hand and the chocolates and card in the other. She answers in just over the amount of time I was sitting in my car. I am always waiting.

She looks much happier than I thought she’d be and it definitely doesn’t look like she needs my shoulder to cry on. Right as she sees the flowers, Idiot Number 8 walks up behind her. ‘What’s this?’ he says. “You don’t really think you have a ch-“.  Daisy cuts him off, “we made up!” she half exclaims while looking down. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed for herself or me. I’m embarrassed for me. The few moments I was frozen felt like far longer. I turned around and ran back to Fern, throwing the Grand Gesture Items on the ground as I leave. I wish I could say I left my feelings lying next to them.

  Daisy Elaine Wiley- heart thief.

Published by Kahlia Tipping