It always comes down to the one who got away and the one who stayed.
I'd like to think that the one who got away will come back. We always come back to what we need and would it be so delusional of me to think that I'm the one she needed? Sometimes, when you set someone free, they'll return in a very unexpected circumstance. That's how it could've ended.
Or maybe someday, somewhere far away in a coffee shop, we'd meet again. This time, we're smarter, we're better for each other and then we'll pick up where we left off. Another situation of how it could've ended.
I do this every night, when I'm on the edge of dreams and reality, when I'm in the edge of temporarily dying. In that perfect world, every piece of the chaos' entirety fell to its place and everything is alright. Everything’s where I want them to be.
And then I wake up.
The world is cruel and fate likes to play with people and the wrong things that they do for the wrong reasons. In the world outside of my daydreams, cameras were flashing and everyone is watching. In a world where thousands of people know you, you'd have to be very careful. Reputations were important and secrets were kept.
Sometimes, even the ones that are important to you are kept.
Meg. My lovely Meg was a secret, she was mine to keep no matter how I want to show her to the people around me, to the life in the glitz of light that's too blinding. If I wasn't much of a coward, if I could’ve just said “You know what? Fuck that ‘You’re supposed to be a role model,’” I would've give her that life, that recognition. That's how it could've ended. A happy ending.
Meg was my “always have, always will's”. She was my “you cant’s” and my “I would’s”. She was the goodbye that left a permanent mark that's invisible to everyone. She was the one who got away, perhaps ran away, and I was the one who stayed.
My mistake was I didn't stop her. I let her go, I let her run. How ironic it is that the girl who knew goodbyes all her life was the one who’ll leave first.
Of all the things that I have imagined throughout those five months of longing for her, the one that actually happened wasn’t on my long list of how things could end.
We met again in a bar. Booze, loud music, bright lights. You wouldn’t expect to see someone like Meg in a place like this. People were dancing on the dancefloor, making out in the corners, trying to swallow the pieces of either their happiness or moroseness with a push of alcohol.
She saw me first and I immediately recognized her when she said “Hello dear,” with that raspy voice that I almost started to forget. She ordered a couple of drinks for the both of us. I could feel something good. Maybe this is how the supposed ending begins?
“You wear the galaxy on your lips now,” I say.
“You wear heels now,” she replied. “I heard it somewhere.”
