She's trying to be more... honest. They say it takes a lot of digging and a lot of courage and a lot of vulnerability. And she's trying.
She likes him. She really likes him. She likes him so much, she's written about how he's going to propose; not to her, but to the one she knows will make him happy. It's a wish-you-all-the-best as she looks on. They're slow dancing in a snow globe and she's the one making the petals fall and the music play. The pain is preemptive. Maybe if I see it now, it won't hurt as much later.
She tries to make the scene as perfect as possible. Nothing can go wrong, it is imperative that the start of their life together goes off without a hitch. She needs to know that he's going to be happy.
"I've waited for you. I knew, I always knew," he'll say as he holds her.
"It was always you," she'll say, "Thank you." She rests her head against his chest as they sway, wrapped up in each other's warmth, their breathing shallow, their heartbeats racing.
She would make the night deeper, the moon brighter, the wind cold enough so he'd give her his jacket. They'd walk off, happy, and she would sit shaking the snow globe, replaying the scene she so carefully crafted. How many crickets in the garden, how many beads on her bracelet, how many times will he look down, look up, smile. Will his trousers be a little creased from sitting, standing, pacing. Will he be nervous? Only a little, but ultimately, he'll know that this was always how it was meant to be.
She'll be beautiful in a way that can only she can be, and he'll look at her the way he's holding her, like he's afraid to drop her, like she's precious (because she is). He will see her walking into the venue, walking out into the garden, walking towards him and he will love her. This is how things are supposed to be.
She draws little red hearts on the snow globe with whiteboard marker and shakes it again. This time, there are doodled hearts in the air as they slow dance. The leaves fall perfectly. The wind through the trees doesn't whisper, it sings. The birds harmonize. The stars dust the night sky, brilliant despite the lights coming in from the party indoors. It's irrelevant anyway.
She will make him happy. Him, happy, happy for the rest of his life. All you have to do is sit idly by and do absolutely nothing. Observe. Enjoy.
Did I say you? ...I meant, she. No, I meant you. And by that I mean me.
***
He's just a boy -- what's the big deal.
Every boy is just a boy, until they're not -- until you meet them and they become more than that guy you see twice a week. They become the things they said and say and did and are doing. They become their actions and the way they explain themselves, the things they believe and the way they fight for what they believe in. They become real.
And it's difficult to argue with reality.
And you only get one reality that's just yours. This is the world from your perspective. This is the truth to you. This is the love you have; how will you give it away, to whom, and for what.
***
Don't invest yourself in someone like that. Like what? Someone who doesn't care whether you do or not. You'll just get hurt. It's a little too late for that, don't you think?
Just, y'know, for next time.
There won't be a next time.
***
Take from life, they said, it'll be easy, they said.
Glimpses of truth never are.
Imagine entirety.
