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From the very beginning, it was selfish. But I suppose I've always been selfish. At least, what's what my mother used to say.
(I hate it when she's right.)
It starts on the T bus, route 178. It's packed, as per usual, the morning rush. One hand on the railing, another around the clasp of my bag - because pickpockets. Never. Again. - and there's you.
Your stop is a few after mine and the inevitable wall of people is too annoying to bother crossing through so you don't. But you smile, a small thing thrown my way and most days, it's enough. More than enough.
You didn't always smile at me. Not that I can blame you. You didn't even know who I was. And for all that I tried, I barely knew who you were. I knew your name was - is - Miranda, Mira for short, courtesy of one eavesdropped conversation. I knew - know - that your stop is three away from mine. A junior, like me, though your classes never, still don't, clash with mine. And every morning, you would, still do, listen to music through headphones that were, are, practically the same color as your hair; a dizzying shade of teal, almost too bright to be real.
Hand on the railing, you never used to smile at me. In those days, I was nothing to you. But sometimes, you would smile in my direction. And in those moments, you were dazzling. (And in those moments, I used to pretend they were for me.)
In those days, when I barely knew you and you didn't know me, I thought I knew the world. In those days, there was a way things were, the earth rotating and round, the blue sky and you. I thought I knew you.
It was all so easy and sudden.
I simply thought 'why not?' What did I have to lose anyways? Getting off the bus and rushing up to meet you, I still remember it, the way you stared at me when I said "Hello." But I saw it in your eyes, that slight burr of recognition and it was enough for me to keep going.
And you said yes. You said yes. I didn't dare to question why. Because that was all it took.
It was - we were - we are...respectable. I took it - you took it - we took it at a moderate pace. A date for ice cream, crepes, food trucks, walks in the park, movies, homework in cafes. It was - we were - we are, a cliche...idyllic. A high school romance at it's finest, everything we were - are - meant to be. It was normal, I was happy.
I was happy.
When I kissed you, the world was absolute.
And when you smiled at me, I thought nothing could be more perfect.
I remember once, when my mother was alive and drunk, she told me that she hated men. Selfish, the whole lot of us. Sprawled on the floor with a bottle in her hand, hair splayed about, eerily like a halo, she looked at me, the blue of her eyes matching mine. She laughed, sharp and bitter.
"And it was just my luck that I ended up with you."
I woke up that night, the air trapped in my chest as I remembered the way she used to look at me. It was the first time you willingly curled up towards me, your arms holding me tight.
When I barely knew you and you barely knew me, the world started to make less sense.
You closed your eyes when you kissed me. Sex in the dark, self conscious, you barely touched me, hands trembling and who am I to force it on you?
("Pigs, every single one of you.")
You were - are - worth more to me than that. But when we held hands, when you smiled at me? That warmth, surely, that had to be love?
But one morning, you woke up in tears, said you were fine, that it was stupid, that it was nothing to worry about. Curled around yourself, biting your lips to muffle the sound, I was scared to touch you. (I didn't want to break you too.)
And that morning, when you stood next to me on the bus, head propped against my shoulder, I finally understood.
Like most things, this ends like how it started. But honestly, I'm just trying to stall for time. Because really, I don't think I was ever meant to know who you are.
Elbowing my way off the bus, Mira's hand clasped around mine, a sharp jab for that person that refuses to move, the world continues on, round and unfathomable. Pulling her to the side, just slightly out of view, it's so easy to grab her tight; I'm sure that if I decided to never let her go, she'd let me stay.
I could be selfish. God, I could be so, so selfish. And the worst part is, Mira would let me.
But from whatever hellhole you're looking up at me from, I want you to know, that I am, will be, better than the man you saw in my face. I am worth more than he ever was, more than you ever thought of me.
I remember all of these things and it's enough to keep going.
"...Luke?"
"I...I'd like you to try something, yeah?" And it's so easy to see, the unease in her eyes. Even now, she doesn't fully trust me. "When Luna passes by, I want you to catch up to her and say Hello."
Flinching violently, her fingers twitch against mine, panic settling in her eyes.
"What? Luke, what are you talking about? What's going on?"
"I'm...I'm breaking up with you. And I want you to talk to Luna. And maybe still be friends with you afterwards. Maybe. I'm still unsure about that last part honestly."
"I - I don't understand. W-Why...?"
And for some stupid reason, I thought that this would be easier than it actually is.
"I know, ok? About Luna. I know - "
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
"And it's fine! ...It's fine."
"No it's not! Because if it were fine, do you think I would have ever -!"
And for some reason, I thought this would hurt less than it actually does. And like clockwork, there she goes, Luna Maddox, hair fluttering with the breeze and pointedly not looking in our direction.
Pausing to look at her, was it always this obvious? Taking a deep breath, "I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I -"
"It's...It's ok." (Really, it is.) "Just...just talk to her? Obviously, you don't have to date her or anything you don't want to do, but...but I just want you to be happy. And I don't know if you know but she, Luna, she looks at you when she thinks you're not looking. Which is, ironically, when you're not looking at her."
"L-Luke...It's not...I can't...I don't….I'm scared. I'm not ready."
Do you see me?
"I think you'll be alright. Might as well start somewhere, yeah?"
Holding my hand tighter than she ever has, perhaps none of it was ever real.
"I'm….I'm so sorry."
"Hmmm. It's fine. I was being selfish too."
"Then why?"
"Because I care for you Mira."
But honestly, I just want to prove a point.
"I wish you all the happiness in the world."
Pressing a kiss on her forehead, the world turns. Stepping back, it's rather easy to admit. "Want to hear a secret?"
"What?"
"I loved you most when you smiled in her direction."
And the look on her face. It's many things. And maybe, just a little, I want to cry. A flare of hysteria, sharp and bitter.
But Mira nods her head once and heads over to Luna, still sitting under her usual tree staring at the sky. She looks back once and I smile. Because that's all I can do. And her smile back...it's….it's dazzling.
So tell me: are you proud of me now? If you saw me, knew me now, would you have stayed? (But I suppose I'll never know.)