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.
nmq