Member-only story
The Girl Who Would Be Loved
I didn’t want to make her mine; instead, all I wanted to do was pray.
Treya thinks no one sees her, but I do.
I see the way she stares at a screen at work, her eyes squinting, as she wonders what to do with the deluge of work she finds herself faced with. She laments how she’s paid so little for being the backbone of a dying industry in retail. She does little things for herself — from design to cuisine — but every day she thinks she goes unnoticed.
But I notice her. Me, her inconsequential coworker. Me, that girl who fades into the background like a chameleon with a bad paint job. Me, that girl who also longs to be loved fully but doubts she’ll ever experience its weight against her skin.
Sometimes I see the listlessness in her eyes. Sometimes I see the heaviness of sorrow on her shoulders as she slumps down in her chair and looks like she wants to cry.
Oh, I know she feels broken inside, but she won’t say a word aloud.
I watch Treya from afar and wish for her as if I’m a fairy godmother. If my wishes came true, then I would see her happy beyond belief. She would have her own business, painting her way through life in a rainbow of colors. She would have a tattooed boyfriend with blue, blue eyes and supple lips. She would…
