I am, as it turns out, a yellow hibiscus.
Allow me to explain:
I thrive on both touch and words in the language of love. I say “I love you.” A LOT. I like to hear it, too. And I blossom under a steady diet of light, sweet, hey-you touch: a squeeze of my hand, a quick hug, a kiss dropped on the top of my head while passing by–heck, even a swat on the ass with a dish towel.
The thing is, I spent far too much of my life feeling deeply ashamed about that.
My ex is, truly, one of the kindest, loveliest, funniest and best-looking guys I know. He remains special and dear to me, and we have a great co-parenting relationship. We shared tons of common interests, we loved to talk to each other, and we laughed our asses off together.