It didn’t take me long to know you loved tulips. A little longer to pick up that white were your favorite. You would pick them in the park when I first saw you. I knew early on that he wasn’t yours, but I saw the way you adoringly watched over the little boy in the park. You would smile as he squealed with delight as you watched him go down the slide and you sat watching, beside the bed of budding tulips. It was the first warm day in April. The kind of day where you knew the cold was officially gone, and with the new buds on the trees came a new, unspoken sense of hope that always comes alive in everyone on this day of each year. I could tell the tulips brought you the same delight as the slide brought him. I was always finishing my run as you were arriving to the park, always a step behind the wobbly toddler. Partially because he always beelined for the playground, and you the tulips. The first time I brought you them wasn’t long after the first time I talked to you. They were yellow, but you didn’t seem to mind. But maybe you did mind, and I was too blind to realize. Because maybe the person that you choose in the end has to always just know to chose white. I didn’t know. I chose yellow. And in the end I just wanted you to choose me, the way you always chose tulips. For once, I wanted to be your tulip.