They were never best friends, perhaps they were friends, but that was alright. The blind one pretended, the dark one loved. The dark one loved the light with her sandy hair, the blind boy loved the darkness.
He thrived on it, needed it to be who he was.
But the darkness didn't love him back.
The darkness would never love him back, the darkness wouldn't let him die but wouldn't let him live, either. He was trapped, in an empty blanket and no chance of escape, never empty but not quite full.