June is sleeping
A short story.
June is sleeping. She looks the best without makeup, I think. Exactly like this when she’s so unaware of it. Not just that. I also think about how she said I love you before she fell asleep. I think about around a week ago when she said that she wouldn’t survive without me after I removed the accidentally triggered smoke alarm in our apartment. I thought about how she said her most prominent goal in her life is to grow old happily in love with me. I said me too. Of course me too.
But I also remember how close she was to leaving me that night. Or the other night. How close it was for us not to be together. Not to see the us today. How close it was for her to choose someone else. How at that time I was pretty insignificant to the point that she almost did that. I wonder why it still hurts when I remember it. Even though I know it’s an old story. And it’s just an almost. What weight does it even carry? I feel stupid for putting weight on something that did not even happen. Well but I kind of believe that thought is an action. So it’s kind of happened for me. Yet I also believe, at least I want to believe, that she has changed and is now more sure about me. About us. Or maybe not yet? Or not entirely yet? I wish I could crack her head open, figuratively of course, and see what’s inside her mind.
She moved a bit and put her head closer to my chest. I can feel her tiny hand holding mine more tightly.
Well I guess I don’t need to know her mind. As long as I have this, I know it’s gonna be alright.