The If

The if in Mari's life is waiting for Hagino to finish the laundry. The smell of the fabric softener clinging to her still, as she asks Mari to help her. Mari will be more than willing and maybe give her a kiss or two.

The if in Mari's life is school festivals and clasped hands. A kimono dressed by Hagino, the colour she chose doesn't matter, will most probably take her breath away.

The if in Mari's life is hundreds of Ferris wheel rides in a lifetime. Face pressed hard on the glass knowing the Hagino is with her and couldn't go anywhere.

The if in Mari's life is fighting over tantrums, broken glasses and unscheduled trips. Printing vacation photos not caring about depth of fields and apertures.

The if in Mari's life is watching Hagino open a can of tuna, eyes intense, focused on the job and nothing else. On the dinner table will be two plates, two cups and two pairs of chopsticks. The dinner is mediocre.

The if in Mari's life is Hagino's kiss instead of the boy who had the most resemblance to her. The boy who was also passive but wouldn't walk three miles in her company. The boy who would paint birds flying, gliding but couldn't comprehend of dying planets and tragic officers. The boy who wasn't Hagino but made her blush nonetheless.

The if in Mari's life is not closing her eyes as somebody takes her in bed. No tears, just the ultimate pleasure of lovemaking.

The if in Mari's life is Hagino.

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