Daffodils (also Ernest)

I hate him.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Well, no.

Not exactly like that.

I hate that I love him.

Why do I do this to myself? Surely this is just...

So. Ernest showed up on my doorstep carrying a pot of daffodils (he knows I like daffodils), begging me to take him back, that he'd be better from here on, and that, well, everything.

He said he'd been blind, that he'd never known what he had until he lost it, and that really I was being really very cruel with him for leaving him on my doorstep like that.

And I took pity on him and told him to come in.

Really, I would have taken him back anyway because, well, he is earnest Ernest, I cannot see myself living my life without an Ernest by my side, but this was so lovely that I just decided then and there to take him back.

Really, though. I hate that I love him so much that I'll take him back a day later.

But then again he did bring me daffodils, so all's well.

The weather continues to be charming.