Heaven Below a Scorched Plane

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Chapter 12

I wonder if she withers now? Now that all the world's anxieties have left her, now that the future is crystal clear. I wonder if she thinks about me. What does the me in her head look like now? Does she even know I'm alive?
I remember how sad she looked, so struck by defeat, and I remember my insistence of her strength. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. We both were anxious people, but together we were similar to the trays on a scale: the more one of us became anxious, the calmer the other would be. But her anxiety was of a magnitude greater than mine, and when she became anxious it manifested as snappy or morose. Neither side of it was any easier to penetrate. It was like a fog that clung to her, refusing to let go, and we both suffered. Granted, I imagine her suffering was much greater, but still.
Every time that storm came and infected her mind, she withered. That was its master plan. Crippling, sudden, can't be shaken. Whenever I saw the torrential rains behind her eyes, the crackling and the winds, I felt powerless. This thing, this demon that attached itself to her was completely beyond my power. I wanted to get away, to be somewhere where I knew how to get to point B from point A.
Now I am away. I'll never be there again. For the rest of my life, I'll never have to take her into consideration. Never have to make plans again. Never have to hear her laugh again, feel her breath as she rests her head on my chest. I can just lie here, waiting for nothing.
If I could see her again, if I could confer upon her just one sentence of my true feelings, say one thing knowing that will be the last thing I ever say to her, I'd say this: you are so much stronger than you know. You need not wither at life, never again. Life should wither at you, a light so bright as to overtake the sun.
I wish I could say that, but not now. Those words have no meaning now. I wish I could send those words back, back through time and space to her, to a time when such words could have been heard. We lost our sight, then our voice, but I remember when it wasn't like that, when we took those things for granted. I had a chance to say those things, but I thought I had time.
Now we move through life automatically. Anxiety is only a feeling in the abstract, something to nag at you while you lie in bed. We've lost immediate fear, but we also lost hope.
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