Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only need the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Petra died. So what? Just another soldier. Just another one.
Then the memories came. The light of her voice, late in a busy night, demanding that he sleep. That light burnt out. In the snow of papers on his desk, the sun comes. He wishes the snow could just melt. The blizzard was too sudden for his normal, slow plowing. He gazes towards the sun. It is not the star in the sky, it is her hair. And it will not melt away the papers, for now it can only melt his heart.
Why is it her? The question burns like acid. The last image is of the final sunset. The motion of her hair, springing outwards as it spread in the wind, thrown of the cart. Why is it her?
Only know you've been high when your feeling low
only hate the road when you're missing home.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
The memories wander about. There are many. Some suggest the attachment, others don't even include it. He is reminded of how nice her presence was. She was how he dealt with the others. Yet, for the whole time he had to hide that, pretend that she wasn't special to him. She never made him happy.
Homesickness. This feeling he'd never thought he'd deal with. He had no home. Yet he was no longer at home. His old squad - the four walls to his life - was gone. He knew the old squad. He knew Auro's laugh. He knew why Erd left on some days carrying flowers. He understood why Gunther would smile. He predicted Petra's responses. He was at ease during training. He never had to talk about dirt. Then the walls broke. Now, he was on this odd road, stuck with weirdos and creeps. What was the deal with Mikasa? Why does Eren care so much? Why is Armin a soldier? Who eats potatoes plain, anyway? Could Connie really be that stupid? His facade was the last wall and on it he was sure to write 'it's just an adjustment.'
Randomly, Petra would take over again. While training, Petra appeared, doing her brilliant twists through the air. The memories would play forward, until her last twist in the air. Away. Rolling towards the titans chasing the cart. Why her? Wasn't Gunther's or Erd's or Auro's memory vital as well. Weren't they all great soldiers? He knew why, he just pretended again.
There was a small devilish thing taking form in the back of his mind, taunting him:
And you let her go.
Staring at the bottom of your glass,
hoping one day you'd make a dream last.
But dreams come slow and they go so fast.
It took years, despite all the restraint. At first, he never allowed himself to imagine anything - even those hairs which stood out of the rest, falling at the wrong angle. But, time wore on and he has a scene now locked up in his mind: him dying of old age, with grey hair and wrinkles - the works - in a house in Trost, rich with decorations, nice furniture and the signs of a good life. In the living room, he sees Petra - who somehow didn't age - and their grandchildren.
He opens his eyes. He must focus on the present. It is morning, four days after the expedition. He stares at the bottom of his glass. What was with that coffee? His mind in the present, he still must avoid yelling out "Petra, what's wrong with my coffee!?"
You see her when you close your eyes.
Maybe one day you'll understand why,
everything you touch surely dies.
His mind doesn't want to stay at the present. Even in a blink, It snaps back to Petra. If something's wrong, the mind finds a deeper meaning. Afterall, it reasons, what good is a world which allows Petra to die? In what world would her devotion and life be insufficient. This festers as the mind travels further back, seeing all the others. The question morphs into "why do I cause this?" He, it decides, must be a curse wrought upon this world. Or, was he the cursed. Was he the victim or the culprit?
Cause, you only need the light when its burning low.
Only need the sun when it starts to snow.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Cause you only know you're high when your feeling low,
only hate the road when you're missing home.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Staring at the ceiling in the dark,
same old empty feeling in your heart,
cause love comes slow and it goes so fast.
You see her when you fall asleep,
never to touch her, never to keep,
cause you loved too much and you dived too deep.
Sleeping was the worst. It was the fourth night, but it was still bad. The present did not occupy the mind anymore. The tormentor could now crawl through every crevice and not be stopped. Isabella and Furlan died all over again. Petra did her vanishing act. By the end, it was not physical exhaustion which put him to sleep.
He remembers how Petra got close. It was a slow, calculated approach. The morning coffee. The polite conversation. The caring. The winsome smile. The affection. Could anybody actually dislike her?
He remembers all his desires. "How would a kiss feel?" "What if I just moved that hair?" Yet, they never touched. Not even once. No small brushes of fingertips, light taps on the shoulder, not even a handshake. In some cruel twist of fate, he had nothing of hers. Not the badge. Not her body. Not even a gravestone. Nothing that was hers.
Finally, his old immune system kicks in - the childhood of not being attached. "Don't get attached" the voice repeats. The mantra gets angrier as his mind admits that he disobeyed. Even if the mantra were all he said, from that night to the end of time, Petra would still smile in the back of his mind.
Well, you only need the light when it's burning low.
Only need the sun when it starts to snow.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Well, you only know you're high when you're feeling low.
Only hate the road when you're missing home.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
And you let her go.
And you let her go.
Will you let her go?
The fifth day passed in a similar way. The same thoughts, the same memories, the same pain. The astounding hypocrisy set in and ripped at his motivation. On one hand Petra died - beauty, perfection, peace and sense died. On the other hand, citizens (particularly from Sina) lived - ignorance, ugliness, greed, turmoil and irrationality lived. Why did he fight? What good would anything do? Can anything wash away the sin of letting Petra die? Even if humanity would escape the walls, Petra would be dead and the world still the sinner. Why did she devote her self to the cause? Why did she have to die so that the others could live on? Why did he let her go?
You only need the light when it's burning low,
only need the sun when it starts to snow.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low,
only hate the road when you're missing home.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
You only need the light when it's burning low,
only need the sun when it starts to snow.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low,
only hate the road when you're missing home.
Only know you love her when you let her go.
Two more days passed in the same hell. His mind was a tornado, ripping at the prairie of his sanity, fueled by winds of loss. Either the field would eventually be destroyed or the tornado would abate. How could he make it abate?
Repent. The word just appeared. Then came the plan: what if he just let himself feel sad? Just admit her loved her and lost her and that the world would never be good again? During the storm and clarity, Hange came in and began to talk. Her babbling was scarcely audible in the storm. Yet, certain words came through loud and clear: "You loved Petra, didn't you?"
This could be the start. With Hange, and then others, he could begin to repent. Apologize to Petra for hiding his love. "Yes, I do."
This should've been the key. With this, the tornado should have stopped. Yet round and round it spun. The field was too broken, the winds were too strong. Maybe he didn't do enough yet. But that didn't matter. Right now, when he needed it the least, his mind was on the present. It focused on the devil inside, which repeated words. These words, he realized, would be repeated over and over. This would be his mantra. This phrase manifested physically, ringing in everything, murmured everywhere. No matter when in this life, or any later ones, he would still hear it. Even if he forgot her face, the words were there, a grim reminder. He shuddered as he heard it again:
And you let her go.