[...] Yes, Cheriour is amazing. Yes, it's very easy to fall for him. Stupidly so. And yes, I have feelings for him, even now. But Cheriour wasn't the one I came home to at night, or day, sometimes, for that matter. Cheriour wasn't the one who'd give me flowers just because it was Thursday. He wasn't the one who could only get me to be marginally incensed as opposed to planning murder down to making sure dental records wouldn't even be an option when pulling me into the rain and mud for makeouts and ruining my hair for them. Cheriour wasn't the one who'd bring me breakfast in the morning and then a blanket at night when I'd fallen asleep over my work because I hadn't moved. Cheriour isn't the one who, despite anything I can make or do, somehow looks most beautiful when he's wearing a potato sack repurposed as an apron and covered in healthy layers of dirt. Cheriour isn't the one who works to the bone day in and day out to make everyone around her happy because she wants to, she believes in it, and takes her real payment in smiles. He isn't the one that looks at newly sprouted seeds like they were more precious than gems. He isn't the one who could recite all of the Illiad by heart, and make you want to stay for the entire thing. It wasn't his body that I never had to take measurements for because I knew where every line, every curve, and dip was, but did it anyway just to be close to him. While we're on that, he also wasn't the one I found twenty three different ways to use measuring tape outside their intended purposes on.
Cheriour wasn't the one I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. You were. You were never something to settle for, never the next best thing, or even my best thing. You were always your own best thing, Chrysi Maymont.
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Yes, Cheriour is amazing.
Yes, it's very easy to fall for him. Stupidly so.
And yes, I have feelings for him, even now.
But Cheriour wasn't the one I came home to at night, or day, sometimes, for that matter.
Cheriour wasn't the one who'd give me flowers just because it was Thursday.
He wasn't the one who could only get me to be marginally incensed as opposed to planning murder down to making sure dental records wouldn't even be an option when pulling me into the rain and mud for makeouts and ruining my hair for them.
Cheriour wasn't the one who'd bring me breakfast in the morning and then a blanket at night when I'd fallen asleep over my work because I hadn't moved.
Cheriour isn't the one who, despite anything I can make or do, somehow looks most beautiful when he's wearing a potato sack repurposed as an apron and covered in healthy layers of dirt.
Cheriour isn't the one who works to the bone day in and day out to make everyone around her happy because she wants to, she believes in it, and takes her real payment in smiles.
He isn't the one that looks at newly sprouted seeds like they were more precious than gems.
He isn't the one who could recite all of the Illiad by heart, and make you want to stay for the entire thing.
It wasn't his body that I never had to take measurements for because I knew where every line, every curve, and dip was, but did it anyway just to be close to him.
While we're on that, he also wasn't the one I found twenty three different ways to use measuring tape outside their intended purposes on.
Cheriour wasn't the one I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
You were.
You were never something to settle for, never the next best thing, or even my best thing.
You were always your own best thing, Chrysi Maymont.