She's Like Smoke
"She's like smoke; you think you're seeing her clearly enough, but when you reach for her, there's nothing there." – Ryu Murakami.
She's like smoke. That's what Sebastian thinks.
It's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. It can't be done.
And he can never have her. He's lusting over a girl who can never be his, and it's killing him.
He imagines her, sometimes. He sees her around the town. Just for a second, a glance. Then he looks back, and she's gone.
She's like sand, constantly slipping through his fingers.
The thing is, she was never even his to begin with. He wishes she was, but she wasn't, isn't, and probably never will be.
He just wants her to be happy, and if she's happy, then he'll be able to deal with it.
He has conversations with her, sometimes. In his head. He had one that night.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when she speaks.
'You need to stop.'
He looks up sharply, and sees her standing at the bottom of his bed.
'Stop what?' he asks.
'Mooning over me. I'm not yours, and it's never gonna happen. So get over it,' she orders.
'I can't,' he sighs, looking down.
'I know that. But try, please. I'm happy, can't you see? I'm undeniably happy with Britt. So please, try,' she pleads.
He looks up, about to say something, but she's gone.
She was never there. She's just his conscience, and he knows he should listen to it, but it's impossible.
It's not just lust anymore. It's love. And he hates it.
She's like smoke. Beautiful to watch, but deadly.
Unattainable.
He can never have her.