Elsa hadn't hurt me physically in a long time. Not seriously, anyway. Not since that night, with the passion rolling off of us in waves.
Except for a few isolated (albeit traumatizing) occurrences, she hadn't really talked to me either.
However, she had been doing little things.
Pulling my braids.
Taking my pencils.
Knocking my books askew.
It reminded me of those boys in grade school that would do those things to the girls they liked.
It unnerved me.
Elsa unnerved me.
I wasn't sure what we had between us, accept that it was sorta bad with some little bits of good. But what I was even more unsure about...
Well, it was Elsa herself.
I didn't know who she was anymore!
Was she the introverted child that stayed in at recesses and read?
Was she the adolescent who loved hot chocolate and snowmen?
Was she the teen bully grieving the loss of her parents?
Was she the woman who was (seemingly) starting to fall for her?
Was she lost?
When I think back on our lives together, it occurs to me that perhaps she had always been lost. Maybe we're all lost, and we're just wandering around until we're found by the person who needs to be found by us.
I wanted to find Elsa.
I wanted to know who exactly she was.
But there was a problem...even she didn't seem to know who she was anymore.