She left again.
Only this time, the circumstances were drastically different. For one thing, she actually informed me about what’d happened. Apparently her mother found out about her reaching out to me and wasn’t too pleased, so she was essentially forced to leave again.
As shocked as I was by the turn of events, it was less unpleasant now than the first time. And I certainly don’t hold her guilty for anything. Nor do I hold her mother guilty for doing what she did, even if I don’t entirely agree with her taking it as far as to force us to cut contact.
I feel bad for us both. She took it upon herself to go against other people’s advice and reach out to me. I took it upon myself to accept her apology after hearing her out about why she ran off the first time. And the consequences caught up to us both, if to a lesser extent in my case. But I don’t feel any less bad for myself than I do for her.
If only it was within my power to change her mother’s mind. If only it was within my power to make her let us continue - despite the five-year age gap, despite us living on opposite ends of the planet, despite me falling in love with her, despite everything.
But alas, it isn’t. And that’s what tears me apart the most about the whole thing. I had no more say in the matter than she did, and even if I had, I’m not so sure I would’ve been able to convince her mother otherwise.
And this time, it only lasted three days. Fuck.
At the very least, the blow was relatively soft compared to the first time. Being informed about the circumstances was a significant pain alleviator. I don’t have to suffer this time. And neither does she.
I only wish it hadn’t ended this abruptly. But the situation is what it is. Life is like a tireless stalker: when you think you’ve just managed to hide from it, it finds you again. Regardless, whatever she’s thinking right now, I hope she knows that I don’t hate her.