Who Is My Trouble?

Turning Point

I woke up to find Marceline in her calm sleep, which was never calm, but we wanted to pretend that it was. She always had a frustrated face in bed, her eyebrows would be stressed to meet each other, forcing a line in the middle of her forehead. The wrinkles that covered the edges of her eyes were countable. They were rivers of tears, empty nights, and inevitable internal pain, with a battle that offers no closure. The beauty of Marceline was in the spark she would gift into any room she steps in. A footstep of hers would make a dead room brighter than ever. Yet that beauty was long gone, and all that was left was a woman who calls herself Marceline, lives in Nottingham and teaches at a University. Still, she isn't that Marceline, who used to live in Nottingham and practices the materials she teaches now. It's complicated. Thinking of what she has gone through, leaves me with an empty page because I don't know anything. As I walked through her apartment, I noticed how I could've actually done something, the way she thought I did. The way she felt I was funding her when I wasn't. The way she might have waited for me to actually come here, and I didn't. It is a tough place that I stand in, knowing that I love her, truly love her, and knowing that I haven't done anything for her. Even if I would, what could I offer? She would never think of stepping back to the States again. It was my idea in the first place that she went. She had and has and will always have all the valid reasons that make her hate us; the Americans, but again, it isn't my fault. I didn't see the future, I don't know the future, I had no idea that Seth was going to be targeted this wrongly, nor did I expect her to go to his mansion! To this day, I never asked her, 'why?' I never questioned the reason that made her go to him. Or was it also unplanned? That out of all the lands in the States, she stood on his. It's complicated, and she doesn't know that. All my anxiety attacks follow the same pattern, the same exact pattern that she would never figure out, and it doesn't seem to end under any circumstance. Sometimes, I think selfishly, I say 'I should brush her off' maybe only then I would be able to break the pattern, and not feel as terrible as I suffer every day. Perhaps only then I would say that there is no need to think of her suffering too because she's done, she's over, and there is nothing no one can do about. Only then will I be able to offer closure to my anxiety pattern, and say that I should no longer feel guilty for anyone's pain. But if I killed the first pattern of anxiety, wouldn't another one initiate? And then, I would want to kill the other pattern that sucks out my comfort. The tragedy of that moment though, is that I won't be having any choice. She would be dead and gone. At least in this pattern, I have a choice; let her or finish her. In the other pattern, I won't have any escape from it except for finishing my own self. Possible, but on what cost? Because if I finished myself then, on what cost did I finish her? I could've taken the second step first, and made it the turning point of everyone. Of course, it would be a huge turning point for myself, but by then, I would be too dead to realize it. I looked back at Marceline to ground my thoughts as I knew I was losing control over them. Her again. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders with the soft white skin that I admired until she woke up, and her blue eyes were striking into mine. With a second, all my thoughts were brushed off as she wished me, "Good morning Henry, are you okay?"