Why is it that, no matter what she does, she is never enough? She needs to be smarter, but not too smart. She needs to be "the bad one," but not too bad. She needs to share, but not share too much. She needs to know better, be better, be more…but at the same time be less, always less. Because she's Maya Hart: too hard to handle and broken beyond repair. If only they didn't see her that way.
"Don't use big words correctly. It's not who ya are." Who knew those words could cut so deep? He's her teacher, her stand-in-dad. Why can't he believe in her? Why can't he see more of her? See that she's more than the façade she's created.
"I think too much and you don't think at all." The words are innocent and she's sure her best friend doesn't mean for them to hurt, but they do. The words sting, more than she would like to admit; they're seared into her skin, a branding she can never shake.
Even when she thinks it through and is sure to dot her I's and cross her t's, she still isn't enough. "We have an understanding." Maybe he isn't the love of her life and maybe he is. Either way he can't see past her age, her history, her mask. She is a baby with a crush and nothing more. She isn't supposed to feel deeply or make her own decisions. Not yet…still, not yet.
Because when she does stand up for herself and speak freely, she is always too snarky and cuts too deep. "You are a bully." She never wanted to be that. She likes to joke. Don't kids like to joke? She's free-willed. Isn't everyone? When did she become too much for them?
Maybe it started at home: the boxes that is. "A girl should think well of her father." She couldn't decide for herself what to think. All she knew was that she was supposed to love her absent father and reject her working mother. Simple enough. Don't think outside of that. This is the right way to think. This is her life from beginning to end.
"I mean okay, not a great life; your family life could be, you know, better." Honestly, her life could be better. Should be better? How can one of the few men she's accepted into her life not see the pain he is causing? She puts her faith in people and they still categorize her. Isn't there more to her than what she has been born into?
"Maya likes you. She's been hiding it all this time." Instead of letting her have the time she needs to sort out the murkiness of her feelings, her surrogate sister takes matters into her own hands. She isn't ready; it all happens too fast. Going from secret love to high profile relationship is awkward. They need time. She needs time.
But that's just not reality. There is only one way to think, and one way to act, and one way to feel. Eventually, she believes what everyone else is telling her.
I'm not smart. I'm not the best friend. I'm not a lover. I don't hope. I can't dream. I'm broken edges…end of story.
"I can't like a teacher; I'm Maya."
"When I own it, it doesn't make me feel so bad."
"You and I are the ones who get left."
So I won't love. I won't dream. I won't fly.
"Hope is for suckers."
Until he changes her. It's not purposeful, but it's there. She doesn't need a boy to give her worth—she has never relied on anyone to give her strength. Still, there's something in him that brings out the light in her. He isn't her strength; he simply reflects her own. In his mirror, she can see what is buried deep within. To the point where her dreams don't seem quite as useless anymore.
Because he sees her strengths: "It means he thinks highly of you."
Not only her appeal. "The Blonde Beauty." He sees everything else that makes a person beautiful too.
He's motivating: "You only know that because they went ahead and said it."
And he cares about what she wants. "I want Maya to be happy." She isn't boxed into one thing; she can act a million and one different ways and he will still see her. Maya Hart: friend, lover, artist, scholar. To him she isn't broken; she's a mosaic of all she's ever done and all she's ever known. She's an artist and artists can't be confined. Every piece of her is unique. Maya Hart is not a damaged soul, but a beautiful masterpiece.
And having him beside me, no matter what we're doing, is enough.
.
.
.
Apparently enough to make me a bit of a sap.
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