She was overwhelmed by the situation in ways she couldn’t even explain, “Is it possible to feel too much?”-She wondered still gazing at his silhouette in the dark from the warmth of her car. She had been sitting there for at least 15 minutes, waiting for him, for she knew where exactly he would be.

He turned slightly to his right to a position from which he would have been able to see her, creepily staring at him. They knew each other so it might not have been that odd; however, she unconsciously jumped in her seat, agitated, shaking as if she was doing something bad, and maybe she was.

She waited until he got on the bus and left. And then she drew a breath of relieve. Put her seatbelt back on and started to drive slowly. As she passed the bus, she slowed down and briefly gazed knowing she probably would not see him.

This situation would had never come to be if she was a normal girl. But she wasn’t. She was “broken” as she would’ve put it if she had ever told anyone. She did not understand what was wrong because, until recently, she didn’t even knew she had a problem. Nevertheless, people moved on as she stood still and this made her realise how ignorant she had always been of her situation.

Now it was too late to recover, since an irrational fear had grown into her, a dominating panic that was much stronger than she had ever been. The anxiety paralysed her at any given moment. And sadness ruled her days.

She arrived home, had dinner and went to bed after reading a little bit. She did not dream that night, and woke up feeling nothing at all. She did not even feel tired anymore, she did not sit at the edge of the bed daydreaming anymore, nor spent longer in the shower absent minded.

She attended all her lectures but did not take notes or paid attention. “What is the point?”- She had asked herself a few weeks before, at the same time she stopped caring. She stopped reading or, at least, she no longer enjoy it. She couldn’t relate to music or films because none of them were meant for her, they could not understand her, and she couldn’t understand them.

She felt as lonely as if she was a million miles from everyone, and she loved, she loved so intensely, so viscerally, so purely that it hurt her that nobody could ever love her back. And she could not ask for it, she couldn’t ask for that much patience, she could not expect something so great from someone.

And it was at this point that she met him, and he was so wonderful, or it appeared so to her. She thought he was bright and kind and loving and happy and funny, she thought him understanding and open-minded. He glowed before her eyes, shyly at first, until it, literally, blinded her. She saw him, so amazingly natural, so perfect at her gaze that she sorely gave up on him.

So she decided. She determined he did not deserve a person who would love him deeply but only halfway. Someone who would feel and would so much for him but who would never let him do the same.

So she took distance, but she never stopped feeling, she never forgot him and the way he smiled, and the way he stroke his curly hair. But she had to look at him from the distance because she would never let anyone in.

But this had always been bigger than him, bigger than anyone. It was life itself she was not fulfilling, and failing at life is a big thing to do. Her problem had devoured her so much that she was limited to look at the person she loved from the distance, sitting in her car; she had started to ruin all her healthy relationships; she began to realise she had never been loved and never would be and she slowly drowned in her sorrow.

She never found a way of overcoming her problems, she never cried desperately for help and was so immersed in the implications of her issue that she failed to see the bright side of things and to feel pressured by the passage of time to do something about it by herself.

He got himself a girlfriend, a pretty, nice, lovely girl who loved him and let him love her, and it lasted for years, until they broke up. But he moved on, and found himself another pretty lovely, although a bit selfish and self-centred, girlfriend who loved him, although he loved her more. They ended up getting married, a rather unhappy marriage. They signed divorce after he found out that she had cheated on him several times; they parted friendly, however.

He remained single for a time until she found the one. They never got married because he no longer believed in love the way he did before, but they, indeed, loved each other. They had two children who grew up to be as kind, funny and understanding as their father. They remained together until he died at 89, in his bed surrounded by his loved ones.

As for her, she was never able to overcome her problem. She slowly began to push away all they people who had ever cared for her. She lost all her friends and was estranged from her family. She became a sour and ruthless person in the surface, but, in truth, she was just aching with pain. She dropped out of university and took various jobs that consumed most of her time. She never wanted anything to do with any man that showed slight interest in her.

She found comfort in food and drink. She gained weight and lost morals. She lived constantly inebriated trying to escape reality but only escaping herself. She had set a date, at which she would lose faith. Truth is that only by setting a date she had already lost all hope.

She never waited for that day and, at the age of 24 she put an end to her life. A weak end to a weak life. Only her most immediate family and some friends attended the funeral.

He never knew, he never asked about her or heard about her ever again. No one really did, and no one really knew why she had done it. Because she never told, she never went to a doctor, she was never strong to face her problems.

But I will not do the same, I will not wait, I will not be weak, I will not give up on anyone, I will fight and I will defeat my fears. Beware, beware…

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