Maisy

Chapter 8: Jon

As I've gotten older, I've learned to appreciate a sad ending. For years and years and years, I'd thought what was the point of starting something if it would end badly? Especially in cinema or books, if it didn't end well I couldn't process the meaning. I guess it was naive to think that anything ends only happy. I guess I was just naive to think that bad things don't happen, that I would have the pain of these bad endings whether I tried my hardest to avoid it or not try at all. Or maybe I'd grown more self masochistic with time. I mean, my favorite movie left me crying and I always sang along with the sad songs.

Most of the romantic relationships I've had in the past had ended mutually, I realized, probably because I avoided having any with someone who I thought could ever hurt me. I thought of Annie, this firecracker of a girl I'd been so infatuated with in high school. She was a little wild, a little unpredictable, and when she asked me out I told her bluntly, no. And although I really, truly liked her, I had zero desire to 'date' her.

What was the value of taking a risk? What was the avenue to deciding what was a good decision? Maybe I missed something great when I turned away Annie. Why can't life just keep on living without me having to make another decision. Maybe life was only made up on stakes and the choice we make to risk them.

If smoothing my hand down Billie's arm was a risk, what is that worth? If touching my lips to her cheek was just an act, what would be the consequence? Would the result be something I could live my life with, or without? And if I didn't know, how possibly could she?

Sometimes things mean more to me than other people. A word. A gesture. A kiss. In a year would I lay in bed thinking what should have been? Or would I be satisfied that I tried? And even if I knew I wanted to, could I?

A shiver ran across my skin and pressed my eyes closed, drifting into sleep.