All she wanted was to learn and grow, to sit in a quiet room and read a book, to cuddle with that one person for hours. She wanted to finish this step in her education and move on to the next. She wanted to save money for a trip to Mexico. She wanted to help people. To come home from work and make herself a sandwich without reprimand. To sit in her room, with music playing softly and lights dimmed, and her computer humming as she wrote her thoughts.
And while she missed it, she thought long and hard, and she knew that she was not built for relationships. She was too introspective a person to be interesting to others. From a distance, it could be alluring—like the image of a calm sea. But it was not as interesting as it seemed—the sea turned out to be merely a puddle in the street. Once in a while, rain would fall, and her puddle would shake and shimmer with ripples of excitement, but then the rain would stop, and the calm returned.
She knew that the times he’d seen her, it had been raining. He had been her rain. But how long would that have lasted if he’d stayed longer? How long would it have been before his interest waned? So she appreciated his enchantment with her, but she knew if he were to be with her more often, that gloss of magic would have faded and he would have seen her for what she truly was.