Bloom|l.h.|

0.3

Everyone has their someone, not necessarily a lover, sometimes they are a best friend, a sibling.
But regardless of who it is, everyone has one person they don't want to imagine life without.
It's not always an immediate reaction to having them around, it can be slow and long and rough and boring.
But once they are your someone, you're fucked.
Especially if they leave.
Unfortunately, he realized this too late, and he realized only a little bit sooner that she was his person.  He was intimidated by the power she held in his life, although she never used it. If she had told him that she wanted to move to the middle of nowhere and live off the grid he probably would have. He knew it wasn't unhealthy to want her in his life, but it didn't make it any easier to trust her with his heart. So when things got serious, and he started to look for anything to make her mad, he just left. He didn't want her to be so calm around him when he caused issues, but yet so explosive when he did something genuinely wrong.

At the beginning of their relationship she had a problem with lecturing him, and at one point he nearly broke up with her, but instead just ignored her for a week. She didn't blow up his phone, just texted him once a day to say that she loved him, and sent him pictures of dogs that she met that day. He didn't tell her what he was mad about, but she figured it out after a few days. She didn't come to him immediately though, she talked to the people who knew him best on what would prove to him that she changed. He only found out about that after they had broken up. 

About eight days into him ignoring her, he came home to a package on his bed, he assumed that she had brought it in. Again he didn't learn until later that she wouldn't go into his house, she insisted that his roommate do it, so he wouldn't feel like she was intruding on his space. Inside the package were a giraffe trinket and Polaroid of the two of them. The picture had one of her silly titles scribbled on the bottom. "A giraffe and a mouse," it read. With the picture was a note.

"I don't normally part with my Polaroids, but this is the one I've looked at since you left. It reminds me every day that you make me happy in my saddest moments. I know recently I've been too overbearing, and I am so sorry for that. I have no excuse for trying to parent you. I understand if you still want space, or if you want to break up, and I know that it is my fault. Even if you hate me, if you ever need me, you know where to find me.

Xx Mouse"

The picture was taken at her smoke spot, and he knew that was the place she was referencing. He waited a few more days, testing her willingness to actually give him space, which she did. The first three weeks after they got back together she spent rebuilding their relationship and his trust. She even found a new way to deal with her frustration. She would write down everything that made her mad at him, the stuff that was too intense for her to actually talk about. She would write him a letter, and he would read it, and write her one back. Then, they would both go into the woods, with cigarettes and apologies hanging out of their mouths. After they had apologized, they would burn the letters, and that meant they would never bring it up again. It worked really well for them both, which didn't surprise him, because when she put her mind to it she could always find ways to fix things.

She was his best friend, his trusted companion. She was his everything, she gave him advice, she held him close at night, she hugged him when he fell apart and pieced him back together.
He knew he could last without her, she wasn't oxygen, he just didn't want to.
And at the moment he felt stupid, because he was back on the same stone table, with the same girls sat in the same spot as a week ago.
"He's still moping, maybe he just needs to get laid. "
He groaned.
"Yeah, if that's the case, I can help."
Why would they never stop?
"God, take a fucking hint you loudmouth assholes! Let me fucking live with some privacy without you trying to dig up all my secrets." He snapped at them, again.
They flinched, again.
Deja vu.
He flicked his still half full cigarette to the ground, stomping on it as he stood to leave.
His attitude returned to the usual "fuck with me I'll end your fucking life" and went on his way.
Still, the dancing gray smoke followed him, the smell of her cigarettes lingered.
He began to run, she followed him in his mind.
He wanted to scream at it to stop, yell for help, but he knew his heart was just missing her.
She was like the light of the universe, it was always so pretty when she came around.
She loved the rain more than she loved her own life and longed for freedom more than anyone he had ever met.
And he envied her, he envied the people who grew up with her, watched her change into this being of love and light.
Fuck them, they didn't understand how lucky they were.
He decided to write another poem, once again about her. He thought about writing another "I wonder" poem, but his heart would have felt cheated. 

She was like, The pull of harsh wind, And the sting of rapid rain, And when she was mad, It was like jumping in front, Of a train. She could out smoke the devil, Out yell God, And if she was still here with me, I would probably just sob. I know I am pathetic, The words I write desperate, But who can blame the broken one, Even if he's obsessive. He sighed with a small amount of content and closed the journal. His mind wandered back to what it must have been like to grow up with her, how much it would amaze him to know her before what made her who she is. But only a few have that pleasure. God has surely blessed them. 
The lucky ones.