In short, he won't let her. The challenge was this: one line of dialogue and the characters remain nameless. It doesn't really have a form, (or shape or reason) but then again it was 1 am when I wrote it.
He won’t let me, I yelled at myself. He won’t let me.
It’s unbelievably frustrating to exist sometimes, but he makes it better. I think part of it is that he’s just so damn bright. Every time I look at him, it’s like I’m peering into the center of a solar system that’s just hopelessly spinning around a star in the void of space. I swear, his chest is filled with candlelight; mine mostly consists of broken lightbulbs that glowed a long time ago. I am cold, he is warm. I am dim, he is bright.
When he’s around, everything is excruciatingly bright. Sometimes I have to close my eyes when he’s around. If he makes me happy, or if I make him happy, he glows even brighter. And I didn’t think that was possible. But it is, I assure you.
But right now, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to have my damn mind. It doesn’t turn off, it just keeps going. And I don’t know how to stop it. It connects things that aren’t connected at an alarming rate; I have a hard time going to sleep and staying asleep because my mind just keeps going. I wonder what it’s like to have a normal mind. To see things as separate rather than connected.
He usually is warm and comfortable and bright. But he’s distant right now, he’s been distant for days. He’s keeping in his light, making everything dim and cold. He’s making everything... me. And I’m panicking, trying to think of anything I accidentally said to anger him. To make him rethink his decision.
For the first time in my life, I’m having to deal with fear of losing someone. I am afraid that he’s decided to go, move from a black hole to something brighter. He knew this, though. I told him I would be a black hole and take and take and take every ounce of light from him that he would offer, and then push for more; I would push and push and push him to his limits and then take everything back, making it useless. I wouldn’t love him, I would consume him. Because I didn’t want that stupid muscle in his pathetic chest, I wanted all of him.
And do you know what he said? He said, “So, like it is now, but with sex.”
If he does go, I won’t stop him. I suppose forcing someone to stay no longer makes it love, it makes it hell. Except love is hell. So if he goes, everything will go back to normal. It will be dark and cold and lonely, and my mind will just keep running, running, running until it kills me or I kill myself. I’m thinking the latter will happen first.
And I’ll never know what it’s like to be at the center of a supernova.
He won’t let me.