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misstree
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it's true that love can overcome anything. i still believe that. but it's not a guarantee, sometimes not even a good chance, depending on what the other factors are.
love can get past ramen dinners and being in wastelands and all manner of drama and difficulty and strife. but the poisoned arrow in cupid's quiver, in that particular merry_go_round, was depression.
i've heard a lot of similar tales as of late. for eight years a friend's ex-Mate slowed down, zombied, until they could barely be pried from the couch, with its television and video games.
depression lets you hide in there. slack-jawed and brain idle, as you float in these artificial worlds you don't hurt, because you're not you. you find comfortable stasis and you remain, atrophying.
eight years of everything he could do to try to help, to bring back the person he loved. eight years of searching through someone else's decaying forest, trying to help them find a way out. of wondering what needs to be done, if it's them, if it's you, thinking sometimes they could beat it if they only tried, that it's not fair you should have to carry the shell of a person this way.
it's the one thing that can kill love, is when one of the people dies without dying. persistent vegetative personality.
i went away. i went away and when i started coming back to myself it was already too late, he was already away, already entangled into someone else, and i can't blame him, i saw the whole story. love itself didn't die; there will always be the bonds of tribe. but he_and_i_ness died, that joining of our fires, and mercifully worse, another had brought him back out to the dance floor.
i wasn't there and i don't know if i would ever have come back if things hadn't blown up, and i saw the whole thing through eyes clouded with drink and crusted with the sand of tears and gut clenched and grey with no way out of the swamp i'd sunk into.
it's love's one flaw. it cannot survive the occasional death.
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