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It falls upon you like the shadow of a dark cloud in an empty room, a cloud that has followed you since the beginning, to the middle, and to the bitter end. You pretend it is a story that you could never follow, a series of winding roads and traps and miscommunications, a bottomless pit you fell into, spiraling until you had no idea what direction you were heading in the first place. You have lied to yourself, you have denied until you believed confusion was the answer.
Now, there is nowhere to hide from the truth that has embedded itself into the corners of your psyche. The truth that screams at you in the volume of the angry desperation of your own voice. In the silence, you cannot simply tune out. You are forced a confrontation that you have been tactfully avoiding all along.
And now that you’ve lost her for good, there is no going back.
The start was clear, the building tension, the way she took every opportunity to poke and prod you, the way she meant every single syllable, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. You saw her suffer, you saw her fall, and you saw her jump the highest hurdles to build herself back up again. Your admiration became restrained by a false sense of pride, an ego that wore a mask to dissuade onlookers from your brokenness.
But you loved her for it.
You loved her for the way she built her senses. She worried you when she disappeared, but she was learning to see in different ways that did not require sight, ways that required intuition and gut and taste and smell.
She returned to you with more fire than ever, an astounding confidence that made yours miniscule in retrospect. It was her that made you feel small in the best way, if only you ever told her. Despite her disability, she wanted to see you again. You fought her due to your fear, but she won in the end. She always won in the end.
It was the first time you had seen her since she lost her sight, red glasses that matched the color of her eyes. There was no shame in her supposed defeat, and with her cane, she found you right away. Like an idiot, you wouldn’t shut up. You hammered her about the chalk on her walls, you insulted the scalemates on her floor, you talked and talked and talked to hide the fear of losing control.
She touched your face when she didn’t need to, her hands sliding down your forehead and your cheeks in an awkward way that made you ask more questions, but you did not stop her. Her cool hands on your warm face made your stomach jump in excitement so foreign but so utterly brilliant. When you wouldn’t stop talking, she kissed you, your first.
And you kissed her, and for once you ran out of things to say.
Her intentions were clear, but they frightened you. The expert on troll romance did not know how to handle his own quadrants. So, you over-analyzed instead, playing games with yourself that somehow kept her coming back far longer than she needed to. You don’t know why she chose you, why she wanted you, but you know all too well why she gave up on you.
You grew angry when you saw her slipping away to a human, when she spent more of her time getting a reaction out of him than she did you. You began to envy him, to compare yourself to him despite the difference in species. You had no game plan, only red feelings that caused such a heavy anxiety in your chest that you refused to name them.
You acknowledged there was something, but something was not enough.
She began spending time with him, and she still does. You don’t see her much anymore. When she is not with him, she disappears entirely, and you miss the girl you fell for first.
It falls upon you like the shadow of a dark cloud in an empty room, a cloud that has followed you since the beginning, to the middle, and to the bitter end. You have lost her, and you have lost her for good. It never had to do with vacillation as you claimed. It had to do with you, your fear, your overwhelming inadequacy in her presence that never mattered to begin with.
You realize in this empty room, that you are the one that fucked up.
You will dream of her, still.