There was a subtle strangeness to the scene. Her friends, her dearest friends, laughed behind her about simple things and the blissful infinity of the moment carried through them like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. Yet she stood apart, her back towards them as she watched the monotonous landscape. She felt a slight disconnect from her companions in order to feel a deep, unfathomable connection to herself. It had to mean something. The soft grey of the night sky lit up by nearby city lights clashed upon the tops of the distant trees in a muffled line. Those trees collided with the tall grasses of the field that stretched and stretched until it tickled her ankles over the tops of her thick boots. It was so plain, so seemingly unattractive and mundane that there must have been secrets hiding in the thick bristles of the forest ahead. She felt that if she looked away, even for a fraction of a second, she would miss the unravelling of her soul. It was a secret she desired to discover; she wanted to know what the hole inside her that buried her mind consisted of and how to plot her escape.
She was blissful, this is not to be mistaken, but in that field in those thin moments she felt the weight of her entire world. It was the sort of feeling that no words or sounds or movements could ever convey. It just is what it is and the artist and curious mind spend eternity trying to capture just how it feels. Yet we all fall short.
It was so overwhelming - she felt such a strong connection to the landscape and to herself - that gentle tears spilled from her eyes. She was unaware of their presence until someone spoke beside her and she gently brushed them away, surprised at how unashamed of her emotion she was. They were tears she had awaited from the moment she woke that morning and when they arrived she greeted them as an old friend. Crying was the proof that she connected deeply to the world and art surrounding her, so when she cried often she knew her life was being lived as thoughtfully as she could imagine. It was just that this moment she needed to live alone, at least for another minute, for her to understand what the landscape was saying to her. Yet she didn’t mind having someone standing beside her, looking at her trees or her tear streaked cheeks, because there are moments we need to live alone but with good company. Someone to be alone with.
Of course the moment ended, as all the best moments do, and her companion left her alone with the trees and the sky and the field. Within the minute she was being torn away, rushed toward a busy road lit by eery street lights that cast an orange glow upon everything the light coated. She felt daring, suddenly driven to escape the confines of her rational brain, and ran.
She could have run forever if the wall across the street didn’t block her path.
To Peter, my love.
To Maxxie, my soulmate.
To Rozalind, my infinite dream…
I will miss you for the remainder of my cursed existence.
I’m not 100% positive what just happened but darling, keep your head up. If she struggled with a heroine addiction there is clearly a lot going on with her, and if she cannot truly love herself she cannot love someone else. There really isn’t anything you can do to change that and it won’t matter how much of yourself you pour into her. I know it is hard but try to focus this love on someone who can love you. I promise you that someone is out there, no matter how hidden from you, but I promise they are looking for you too. All of the best fairy tales begin with someone who feels alone, because to truly cherish the love you will have you will have to know how it feels to suffer without it. Things will get better, you will find love, you just have to brave the storm first.