Paper Memories

She becomes an idea again. What he thinks she looks like after those long months of Agloe and other paper towns; imagines the way her hair, cut short, might have grown into careless fringes that fall into her eye when she turns her head; imagines her sitting on her suitcase adorned with all sorts of postcards and those corny travel badges she can find on her way, in the middle of the road just to look at the sunset because damn, the sky looks stunning in those inky hues that evening.

Q imagines, because that's all he can do. Because he doesn't know. He can only think of Margo.

He tries not to think of her often, afraid to spend thoughts of her on trival moments. Tries to think of her only during the moments he can feel his heart beating in his chest. Moments that she would have spent with him, the moments she would've deemed worthy enough to live for.

The one day during summer when he's home from college, he dreams of her. Dreams that she's come to his window and she looks different and just the same at once. Of course he goes to the window; knows full well that this has to be a dream and that if he even as little as moves or talks, the spell might be broken.

So instead he looks at her, half hoping for her to grab him by the hand and go an adventure. Her eyes shine with adventure; they're filled to the brim with mirth, sadness and life and a blank look as she looks back at him and Q wonders for the millionth time how full of contradictions she is.

Her hand caresses his cheek before she leans into his window the slightest and kisses him. In that one moment, time stops again and Q loses thought of everything that is not her. Her hand is cold and he soon realizes that his fingers are gliding along her cheek, knows that his skin is much warm against hers and this feeling he always felt for her (he faintly thinks the name for this feeling is love) washes over him all again in a swift rush.

She pulls back, and Q doesn't find it in himself to open his eyes. He cannot bear to open his eyes and not find her there. So she kisses him again, this time a light brush as their lips touch again and he knows this is the last time.

The last time their strings cross.

And he has never seen her more clearly. It's the time when the vessel cracks and all the light gets in and it seems natural that he's the one to see her now-that she picked him.

Q can feel the light in his string already starting to fade. Because a string that doesn't cross with Margo Roth Speigelman lacks luster.

A part of him always hesitates to tug on that string that is connected to her. Afraid that he might find the paper girl connected to it's other end has drifted away. So he holds on to the memories. Paper memories maybe. But they're more real than anything else in his life.

He always hopes, long after that night she appeared in his window, for her. For Margo to come back, to see their strings cross again. It's in those times that he can perfectly remember her-the exact shade of her brown hair and feel of her lips on his.

She'd intertwined her fingers with his that night, after their kiss. They'd stood at his window like that for some time. He had been thankful that she hadn't said goodbye. That gave him a little hope. And, he thought later on, may her too. Maybe even Margo had hoped.

Maybe their strings would cross again. Maybe they would meet again in another paper town. Till then, the memories were always with him.

A/n: It was deliberately short; I hope that didn't seem too hasty and random.