We used to steal glances.

And when one pair found another echoing a message of infinite solutions, understanding would translate into blood rushing up the nape of your neck shading the complexion of your cheeks.

Then perhaps the other pair diverted its attention elsewhere only to return with a vengeance. A smooth sweep of one eye in closing to convey acknowledgement of the intended effect only to result in a deeper understanding of said message.

In turn, a smirk graced my lips accompanied by the contortions of my face to express a smug satisfaction. Mentally, there's fistpumping that can only liken itself to that of one Siberian Siren. And so the trend continues.

We knew what the eye contact meant and still we skirted its parameters, pretended that it wasn't what it seemed. We chose to dock in the port and assign patrols for protection instead of casting off into uncharted waters.

Alas, like all stupidly exhilarating things, it didn't last. The interactions grew more and more isolated until eventually, it led to a single combustion of unrestrained courage. And we introduced words to quantify the seemingly imaginary.

The glances became a staring contest.

Except your gaze wavered while mine met yours steadily. You tried to mask it with hollow words but I knew better. In that instant, my instinct became transparent. All the formerly ignored sounding alerts replayed in a flash.

That was all it took. A slight inclination in your eyes toward uncertainty, a shadow of inhibition released in a subtle wave that radiated off of you to settle over me. I wasn't so much lulled to consciousness as I was jolted awake. The careless diction you employed to mask your fear only served my strengthen my conviction.

Reality produced an involuntary lurch of shock from my head that dissipated throughout my body before settling in my core, where it settled like a dead corpse in a coffin of lead. Ironic when one considers the density of my being until that pinnacle of realization.

I blinked.

It wasn't a game anymore but you still treated it as such. I was playing for keeps but you, for kicks.

I threw in the towel and tapped out. I gave in to the evident truth and stopped pursuing a crusade I inherently knew to be based upon an issue that was ultimately forced. The words that followed were justified by the painfully sharp images of the void I imagined us to be in a year's time.

I drew for comfort the knowledge that I had saved myself from a world of hurt. Perhaps it should have never even gone this far. But I let myself hope and I allowed naivety to seep through my rationale. In blindly wanting to sate my hunger for happiness, I settled for an artificial version.

I superficially deceived myself into believing my heart would be appeased by the most rudimentary form of what I desired. No matter how sweet I found it to be, the short-lived bliss I was headed for wasn't worth it. I had lowered my standards for someone who had no intention of ever meeting them. I faced someone who made no effort to raise themselves up to that standard, someone who didn't even endeavor to make the shortcomings seem insignificant.

To the near future and the rest my of life, I propose a challenge: do your worst. I already did the unthinkable in changing myself to fit the mold I shouldn't have even cast. And though I wasn't left unscathed, I gained insight.

My desperation to be cured of loneliness likened the concept of "easy" to "uncomplicated" when in retrospect, "easy" merely presented itself as a distraction from what fate temporarily withholds from me. But, no matter. The point is that I blinked first and burned a recipe for disaster. I walked away with a receipt showing proof of purchase for a lesson learned. And I am all the better because of it.


A/N: This oneshot is based on true events...I recently dodged a bullet with the best thing I never had. Also, Maria Sharapova is the "Siberian Siren" I was referring to.