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Johnny. Johnny johnny johnny. The word circles through her mind like an endless broken carussel, round and round and she can barely take it anymore.
Oh to be kissed by those pouty, pouty lips.
To be looked at with those eyes, with their typical glint of mischief or perhaps with a look unknown to anybody else in this world.
Oh to be special to that person. To be the one in a million that he picks, the one that he himself chooses for himself, for a lifetime, maybe, or a little while.
She thinks that, maybe, one day would suffice. One day or one night, maybe just an hour. To have him to herself for just fifteen minutes, to hold him for a single moment.
She thinks, probably, a second of eye contact would be enough.
But what if? What if that second turned into two? Three? What if the seconds turned into hours and those turned into a lifetime?
She almost dares not continue that thought. Had not some wise man once said that too much happiness could be deathly? Maybe that was just a fabrication of her own brain, a little scar, left by the ropes of reality, that cut into her mind whenever she was just about to get lost in her illusions.
But what if, maybe, she did deserve that happiness? Was this not an ordinary love, like that of ordinary, happy people? Was it wrong just because he was too out of reach? Because he's perfect? Maybe his perfection was supposed to belong to the both of them? To refill what she was lacking? Yin and yang?
The ropes cut tighter.
What if the perfection was burdening for him? If she could help him, take part of it, part of him?
What if, hypothetically speaking, he fell in love with someone like her? No, not someone like her, but what if he loved her ?
The sharp cuts of reality are soothed by warm tears. Salty streams get tangled in her lashes, slowly dropping onto her cheek.
Oh to have him kiss them away. Or cry with her.
The tears just keep flowing, slowly, steadily. They trace her face, over the cup of her cheeks, round the corners of her lips, and they lightly trickle down her chin.
Where are they going, she wonders. Could her tears reach him? What if she cried into the sea, would some tiny molecules of her one day touch his skin?
The idea seems fitting as she takes in the salty taste on her lips.
But, and the idea hurts more than any reality ever could, what if he was crying too? Right in this moment, or any other time.
What if he was crying and she was not there to kiss his tears away, or to cry with him? Would he have someone?
Would he really, surely always have someone?
Always?
Her eyes hurt. Her eyes hurt and her mouth feels dry and her nose is running.
Maybe her body is exhausted enough to sleep now. Maybe this whole time her brain has just been throwing up nonsense, so as to not stay unoccupied for even a second.
Maybe all her thoughts were irrelevant anyways. Since it is all hopeless, and obsessive and impossible. Since he is not there.
She closes her eyes, lashes heavy with saltwater, and in her mind she sees him.
His beauty, his mischief, happiness and sadness, she sees everything. Everything and nothing, because who is she, really, to know his happiness or sadness?
Maybe nobody knows.
And in that moment, whether it is her, or a friend, or anyone else, she wishes for his happiness.
Sincerely, deeply, unconditionally.
Oh to only know that he is happy. To know he is loved, and cherished and fulfilled enough to not be missing her.
To not ever miss her like she misses him.
Sincerely