HELIOS

She was always warm, and you could feel her light on your skin every time she walked into the room. She blinded people with her radiance and took them aback with her brilliance and there will never be a person as perfect as her, not now, not ever. Because if we were all stars then she was the fucking galaxy, everything was dark without her and once she's gone, you realize that you don't know what you're supposed to do with yourself. She was a Saint but she left too soon. Suddenly the quiet was deafening and you couldn't focus on anything but the emptiness that now resonated in your entire being at the fact that she was gone.

She hadn't diminished, she was still as bright as ever but she was too far away. She was in a place where her light couldn't reach you no matter what you did. All you knew now was cold and emptiness and grief. You couldn't do anything but put reminders of her all over your room, because you think that they'll make you think of better days when in reality they just pour salt onto the wound. She is still breathing, she is still living, but her words are no longer spoken for you. She is no longer your tie to reality, she is no longer the band-aid to your wound, she is no longer there to make you forget.

You're alone. And it takes a very long time, but eventually you can look at her again without feeling your eyes leak, and eventually you can be in the same building as her without experiencing flashbacks. Because once you were clutching the sink until your knuckles turn white and crying at the thought of what you once had, but now the only time you think of her is in the dead of night, when everything is quiet except for your whimpers and your thoughts that are louder and more dangerous than a gunshot. She is still there haunting the back of your mind, but the wound has stopped bleeding, and you realize that maybe you won't always be mourning someone that's still alive. You realize that maybe meeting her wasn't a mistake that ended too soon, but rather an experience that hurt but was entirely necessary.

Your grief came in flashes. Sometimes you would think that it's fine, that it's a thing of the past, but then you have a nightmare or two and everything crumbles. Sometimes you think that you're a terrible person, because maybe you took advantage of her kindness and held onto it too tightly. And maybe sometimes when it's particularly cold in your room at midnight, you think that she hated you, that she thought you to be a nuisance. And the more you think about it, the more you realize that it was probably true, because what would someone like her want with someone like you? You were scarred, you were selfish and depressing and you did nothing but diminish her glow. You wonder if she ever thinks about you too, but deep down inside you know that she either doesn't or she wishes she forgot you existed.

It takes years, but finally you don't think of her with grief and bitterness and depressingly poetic words. Eventually, you see her as she was—just a passerby, but there's nothing wrong with that. Because when you look at a shooting star, you don't think about how it'll be gone in a moment, but rather about how blindingly beautiful it is. And one day, you see that she was essential to you once, but not anymore. You don't need her. You don't cry over her, you don't think about how everything's a little dimmer when she's gone. You just think that you were one lucky bastard to ever know her. Maybe she's gone, but the memory of her isn't. And finally, your sorrows can depart safely, knowing that they're no longer needed to link you to her. Finally, you're filled with acceptance with only an ounce of sadness, and that's how you're meant to be.