She was in love with the idea of forever. It made her giggly and flushed. She felt tingles in the tips of her toes and the barest reaches of her fingertips. She couldn’t help herself. ‘For ever’. How lovely.
She was young and fresh and new. A whirlwind, summer romance personified. Beautiful.
He made a promise, a bet. “At least an hour, one hour, and afterwards you’ll love me,” he said, followed by, “What do you want?” And she laughed and grinned and looked at him with bruised eyes before leaning forward. He leaned forward as well, perhaps too eagerly, too hopefully, because her whispered words made his face fall.
Being alive should be a simple thing. Simple needs fulfilled and we should be content. It’s hard being selfless. Being greedy is so much easier.
Life is beautiful and vibrant and exciting. It’s a thrill, chasing the impossible, and it’s being young and being foolish, and being so incredibly sincerely selfish that it seems that everything is falling out from under you. Living is being in love with the world and with yourself, chasing butterflies and catching dreams. You just have to make sure you don’t fall.
Her words, her smile, her desperation. It made everyone sick. Nurses, doctors, family, they were always smiling when they asked her if she wanted something. They were happy to make her happy. Until she told them. Until she actually made a wish because apparently she was asking for too much. Is it so wrong to want everything? She didn’t see any problem, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was wishing for the wrong things. She didn’t know that was possible. Wasn’t a wish for yourself? Just for you? Even if it never came true, it was yours to waste pennies and dandelions and shooting stars on. She didn’t know that there were rules.
No one could give her what she wanted. She grew frustrated. Really, was her request so difficult? Was she really so selfish? All she wanted was eternity.
She remembered a cool morning and warm blankets. The smell of coffee and the foggy feeling of a tired mind. There was a bad taste in her mouth, bitter and it felt as though acid was eating at her teeth even though she’d brushed them thoroughly. She buried her face into her mothers shoulder. The acrid smell of dried sweat and the heavy scent of bottled lavender. True comfort. A hand brushed her cheek and she opened her eyes. There was an eyelash on the very tip of her finger – perfectly balanced. She thought for a moment; shut her eyes against the world. She wished with every ounce of love and hope and selfishness that she held. She breathed and watched as the eyelash drifted just enough to fall over the edge of the couch and land on the carpet to be vacuumed up later.
She listened to beeping machines and the sound of frantic wheels and frantic people passing over gleaming linoleum out in the hallway. She rolled her eyes, gazing tiredly at the oversized butterfly stickers peeling off the walls. Her head was cold even though she wore her thickest cap. Hair was for more than looking pretty. A hand brushed her cheek and she opened her eyes. There was an eyelash on the very tip of her finger – perfectly balanced. She thought for a moment; shut her eyes against the world. She wished.