My reasons varied from day-to-day.
It could be something as simple as the color pink, a fresh pack of grape bubblegum, the sun shining outside, the smell of my favorite bakery in the morning. Some days it was a new shipment of toys for the shop that I was excited to display. Sometimes, it was my dads and the way they tried so hard to understand me. Once in a while, on the really bad days, I was unable to find any reasons at all.
Mostly, my reasons looked like this:
Finn's loud laughter, cackling and unabashed, waking me up from every nap I tried to take. River singing Britney Spears as he cleaned the shop early in the morning, his hips swiveling along to the beat. Dani's coy smile when she wanted something from me, the way she would pout and whine until I gave into her. Buffy's never ending knowledge, her confidence, her open arms to everyone around her.
The way Pink Couch felt at 3 a.m. after a sticky, sweaty, crowded night, when everyone else had gone but all of us. The smell of the salty ocean on the walk back home, the sound of the waves hitting the shore, the reminder of how small and insignificant I was in this big world.
My reasons varied from day-to-day, but they always involved the same familiar things and people. My friends, my family and my home-the Wasteland.
Then one day, my reasons changed.
To dead flowers appearing on my doorstep, to shared cigarettes on our respective balconies, to listening to you list your own reasons aloud, your voice deep and soothing in my most frantic times.
To the way you pissed me off on purpose, to screaming matches through our mutual apartment wall, to how quiet it felt afterwards, in that space when we wanted to make-up but it was pointless to do so, because you were never mine and I was never yours.
To the way the world stood still the first time your hand brushed against mine, to the way you smiled at me when you thought I wasn't paying attention, to secrets and secrets and more secrets.
To the sound of your records playing, loudly beating against the walls, combating with mine-I always wanted to turn my music off so I could sit against the wall, listening to yours instead. Yours was always softer, happier, more full of life than I ever felt capable of being.
To us getting drunk to forget our problems, to the way your arms felt around me that first night that I let you hold me. To your lips, gentle and soothing and cool as they pressed against the scars on my skin, to the piles of pancakes you made for me on so many mornings.
To the way you worked your way under my skin with every arrogant smirk, with every sarcastic comment, with every moment you pushed back. To the fighting and the fucking and the challenge of letting you know me.
To the way I felt every time I was with you-as if I was soaring high in the sky, flying through the clouds. I never expected to fall. I never expected to crash and burn. I never expected you.
My reasons varied from day-to-day.
Then suddenly-they were all you, Harry.