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It’s the little things he never noticed. The hitch in her breathing when she spoke and the weary in her voice, the sag of her shoulders when she walked, the hand on his arm, the soft breath against his neck, the accidental brush of a hand. He was too preoccupied with knowledge and truth. He didn’t notice the weight. He saw the shiver and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, but never realized how difficult was for her to take it. He didn’t realize that it betrayed everything she ever learned, or how hard it was –is– for her to look at him without resentment.
He’s everything she’s supposed to be. He has everything she wants. He’s everything she needs. He’s everything she’ll never be. But he doesn’t know that.
When he came to her, in the dark, he didn’t realize she needed him more, or that he only got one shot. He figured –figures– she’ll wait for him forever. Forever only lasts so long. He didn’t realize that for one night, she gave him what he’d always wanted, what he’d unknowingly been searching for all those years- herself. There was no surrendering. For the first time in a very long time, she wanted him to see her, not the mask. Naturally, he chose that moment to be blind.
He didn’t realize his mistake. Never saw the window behind him, or felt the breeze coming through in one last burst just before it closed. He didn’t hear it slam shut. But, while that’s all unfortunate, the worst of it is, he still doesn’t realize, even after all the years, even though everything’s been done and nearly everything’s been said, that all he ever would have had to do was ask. Even in the beginning. That night, all those years ago, if he’d ask her to leave, like he’d always wanted too, she would have said yes. Instead, he left in the dark, just like he’d come and she woke up alone, just like always.
What a tragedy.
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