Too Oblivious
Safi held Max’s hands and gazed on the fringe of hair hiding those luminous eyes. She’d accused Max of being oblivious before. It’d taken her six months of wandering to realize that the photographer had simply never noticed Safi throwing herself at her. While she was ostensibly searching for other, powered individuals, she realized the center of her universe, the woman who drew her, again, and again, was not going to change. It was Max. Maxine Caulfield. Super Max.
There were things she could say. Caustic ways to diminish what she felt. What they felt. Teasing, sarcasm, cynicism, all a coward’s way of hiding the truth that pounded against her ribs, desperate to get out. Or, she could let the poet speak.
The rare pair no one asked for:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
