ext_25002: The TARDIS on the Plass, in front of the Millennium Centre (RENT*Mk: Days spent obsessing over detai)
You never quite understood love – real love, romantic love, deep and wild and passionate love. Love in friendship, love in family, that's different, that you get, but you never understood how people can lose themselves so completely in another person, until now. Until her.

Love is spending money you really can't spare, buying a single flower from the store on the way home from work – a yellow rose, not to be too romantic, too presumptuous – and leaving it on her bed, just to see her smile when she gets home.

Love is watching her with Roger, out of the corner of your eye, and feeling a pang of jealousy at every kiss because it should be you, and a pang of guilt at the same time, because it's Roger, you shouldn't feel jealous of your best friend. Then again... it's her.

Love is wanting to film every second of her, every smile, frown, movement, capture the way she tilts her head, or bites her lip when she's thinking, or sprawls carelessly on the couch with a charming gracelessness, thinking that every second of her needs to be captured and saved.

Love is simply April.
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The 2007 Muskrat L-Jamboree!

April 2017

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