This is how...
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you
forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the
sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the
delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when
she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to
another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but
honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if
you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about
you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation
rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question
but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your
mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign
your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are
trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t
even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the
beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable.
She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are
fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She
wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for
you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind
and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the
reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must
write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how
long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she
is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and
failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she
is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her.