A Love Story of Sorts.

Her dreams were too big for the little town she grew up in. He was too different for anyone to accept.

That was until he met her.

Her hand reached for his as they lay in the tall grass of the back paddock. It was solitary and untouched. It was beautiful.

It was just what they both needed.

They were always happier in their own world. They were better in their own world. When the others came, they destroyed everything. They ripped them apart from the seams. They scratched and bit and tore until there were nothing left but deflated hopes and dying dreams.

They didn't need anyone else.

Her thumb traced the scars on the back of his hand. She knew ever bump and crevice. She loved every inch of his scars. She loved how he wore them with pride. She loved how he didn't hide them.

To the world his scars were ugly. To her, they showed a life lived. They showed his strength. They showed his courage. They showed him. She saw beauty where others saw disgust. She saw strength where others saw pain.

What doesn't kill you, he repeated that day at the lake, makes you stronger.

His skin tingled under her feather soft touch. When her skin met his, the fire he saw every day – the memories of a scarred past that flashed behind closed eyes – subsided. They died. She relieved him. She was the cooling touch to his burning past. He needed her. He needed the girl with the wide blue eyes and the dreams too big for her small town like a weed needed soil.

He remembered the day they had met. She was a farmer's daughter. He was the town newcomer; an outsider already. They had been at school in the line at the cafeteria. She was lining up with her friends. He was behind her. When he was pushed and shoved and knocked down by a group of boys everyone laughed. They called him Scarface. They called him Ugly. They told him to leave town.

He had heard it all before. It didn't hurt him. He had learnt to put a wall up; to lock himself away.

But as everyone laughed at his expense, there was one that didn't. There was her.

She pushed past the abusers and came to him. She took his hand and led him to a new space in the line. She told the abusers to get a life. She defied everyone's expectations to save the new kid with the scars. She threw away everyone she knew for the one she didn't.

He loved her ever since.

She didn't fit into her small farming town. He didn't fit in anywhere... except with her.

Her thumb traced the burning scars. They seemed to burn everyday; every minute. They burnt like they did when they were first engraved into him. That was except when she touched them. He needed her.

The smell of grass and fresh night air and strawberries swirled in the air around him. He loved the feeling of the cool, green grass against his hot skin in the warm summer night. The strawberry smell came from her. She always smelt like strawberries.

They stared up at the stars together, their eyes set on reaching them. Together, against everything else, they could.

Her dreams were too big for her town. He was too different for any town.

"I want to follow the moon," her soft voice sounded from his side. He turned his head towards his girl, wanting to listen to what she had to say. "I want to leave this town. We don't belong in this town. I want to follow the moon. She'll show us the way."

He reached a scarred hand towards her, stroking her pink cheek like the summer breeze caresses the meadow. "You can do it, baby. One day you'll be up there with those stars."

She turned her face towards him; her perfect, heart shaped face. His eyes danced over it, absorbing her beauty. Those wide blue eyes held so much. He could see her dreams and her swelling heart as the thought she would finally reach them crossed her mind.

"You think so?" She asked, her eyes dancing over his distinctive features; his different coloured eyes, the long scar on his left cheek, the lip ring on his bottom lip and the way his shaggy hair fell over his face. She thought him beautiful.

"I know so, baby. One day, we'll fly away from here. Anytime you want we can find a better place; just you and me. We'll pack our bags and hit the sky."

"It's never too late, right?"

He cracked a smile. "You got it."

She couldn't help but smile. Her love for him wasn't something she could put a finger on. It wasn't something she could control.

She never thought she would fall for him, but she couldn't help it.

She saw his beauty; his spirit; his strength. Her love for him was like a wildflower; a weed. It wasn't planned. It wasn't potted and expected to grow. It wasn't nourished and watered. It blew in on the wind and planted itself where it felt free and whole. He flew in on the wind and planted himself on her heart. It came from nowhere and sprouted up so strong; so beautifully; so strongly that she was blown away. She couldn't uproot it. She wouldn't uproot it. Her love for him was wild. It was unpredictable. It was intoxicating. It was magical. It was brilliant. It made her do anything for him.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Their love wasn't a greenhouse flower. It was a weed; a beautiful weed. It was a wild flower. It was colourful and beautiful and unexpected and strong and unwanted by everyone. Except them.

"Sometimes..." she breathed, her thoughts drifting as her mind explored. "It's like I was born backwards. The people I should love... I hate. The people I should hate... I love. I don't want anyone but you. I don't want anything but to run away with you. Sometimes... I think I was born backwards... But I wouldn't have it any other way."

He understood her words. Everyone expected her to hate him. They all did. He was an outcast. But she didn't. She... loved him. She gave up everyone for him. That thought left him feeling guilty, but completely fulfilled. He didn't want to lose her.

"I'm not good enough for you," he admitted. He had known it for so long... ever since they met. He just didn't want to admit it. "I can't stop screwing up. I can't stop hurting you. I don't deserve someone like you. Sometimes it's like I have a loaded gun in my mouth, my finger is hanging on the trigger and I'm addicted to the taste of gunpowder. I can't stop hurting you."

She shuffled closer to him then. "What are you talking about?"

"I've pulled you away from everything; your family, your friends and your home. What kind of a person does that?"

She wouldn't agree to it. She wouldn't have it any other way.

Moving her hand to brush the long scar on his cheek, he felt that cooling sensation. He needed her, but not at a cost so great for her.

"Now you listen to me," she told him. "You have done nothing wrong. If they can't accept you – if they can't accept someone a little different from them – then I don't want anything to do with them. I want you. I need you. I want to be with you. I want to get out of this town with you. I want you by my side. I... I...I..."

She wanted to say those three words they both knew were true. They hadn't been spoken yet, but she knew they were true. She just had to say them.

Her heart raced. She took a deep breath. She steadied herself. She prepared herself.

Then she said them.

"I love you."

A smile formed on his lips. It took her breath away.

For once in his life, he felt he had a home. He finally felt he was in the right place. He knew he was in the right place.

He was a weed she had nurtured and loved. He was a weed that she accepted. Someone finally accepted him. She loved his faults and blessed his strengths. She whole-heartedly and unconditionally accepted him.

It was the one thing he needed. It was the one thing everyone needed. Acceptance.

"I love you, too," He promised her.

Later that night, they packed their bags in search for a better place.

"A weed is but an unloved flower."
Ella Wilcox

Author's Note: I was inspired by the quote at the bottom from Ella Wilcox. I think it's perfect :). Anyway, thank you for reading and please do review! Constructive criticism would be great!