64 Rhys
64
Rhys
Ginger grinned slowly as I proposed we strike the item Do something crazy off her list. We went that afternoon to a tattoo shop. And we got the same thing. Something little, but ours. A crescent moon on each of our wrists.
She was the first person I’d ever gotten a matching tattoo with.
And even then, I knew she’d be the last.
I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else. I couldn’t imagine gawking like that at any other girl while someone engraved in her skin the desire we both felt to have our feet on the ground, look up high, and try to touch the moon.
I thought of how much she’d changed since I met her that night in Paris. Maybe she had stumbled once or twice, maybe she hadn’t yet found her place, but she was braver, stronger, more beautiful. Everything I wasn’t. I could almost imagine her in the future, slowly watering her roots, feeding them, watching them grow. That was it: I was watching her grow. I could see how she was feeling better, more stable, with well-defined limits, even if she still had decisions to make. Unlike me. That was the problem. I didn’t see myself. I didn’t have roots. I was…vague. I was smoke. I wasn’t anything.