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.
JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.
If there was something Quinn knew, it was struggle.
All her life, she had struggled to know her God, her face, her family, herself. Along the way, her struggles had determined the friends she’d made, the boys she’d kissed, and the would-be friends she’d pushed aside.
Quinn Fabray had led a cheerleading squad to victory, had supported a glee club to its attainment of national prestige, and had even brought another human being into existence.
Reading books, tucked away in the corner, had been her connection to Lucy. But Lucy hadn’t been cut out for the world of Quinn Fabray. Quinn had been a shield, a defense.
A lie that had become truth somewhere along the way.
But if Lucy had taught Quinn anything, it was that there was true merit to being faithful to yourself.
Despite the struggles.
“What are you thinking?”
The words barely escaped Quinn’s lips as her lungs exhaled them outward with a courage that had been building half her life and with gumption that she didn’t know she had accumulated inside herself somewhere along the way.
But she was met with an unfamiliar stillness.
If there was one person who seemed self-assured, self-righteous, and self-confident beyond all others, it was Rachel Berry. Hesitancy was not typical of her character.
Quinn would have given anything to hear what the girl was thinking, quiet and still below her.
I wish I could—
You have no idea—
Your lips look unbelievably soft…
Quinn had struggled.
She had struggled from day one on a seemingly endless timeline of pain and frustration, dues paid, and rewards earned but misplaced.
But here she was anyway—begging, pleading for this one chance happenstance to swing in her favor.
Let her see, her thoughts raged while her body remained steadfast, let her see that she is all there ever was.
Because, for Quinn, the answers were
I have some idea—
Trust me, yours do too…
Not even a quiver shook Rachel’s lips, but her body spoke where her mind could not. Her hesitancy in action was no match for the true desire of her heart; Rachel’s body moved of its own volition, and who was Quinn to argue?
Head, ducked; lips, touched; breath, caught.
If they weren’t destined for this moment, then Quinn surely didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Who was I ever and what could I have been in the absence of this?
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The reciprocity of touch, the surge of passion, the way Quinn’s lips visibly wiped away the slightest hint of surprise.
“You are mine,” Rachel whispered.
There was the confidence, the courage, the girl of Quinn’s greatest realities.
The searing, verbal brand of ownership was nothing, to Quinn, if not everything.
“Always have been,” she replied. “Always will be.”
I’m off to see The Cure live. OMG.
“The concept is simple. Take a blank sheet with nothing but the basic outline of a pinup girl and illustrate a unique scene around her.”