You have to let go.

Sometimes… you have to let go.

Isadora
Called "Isa" by everyone who ever loved her.
18 | She/Her | Somewhere rural.
Your oldest friend. The one who made you promise things.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️

Depression | Grief | Loss | Suicide

Spoilers

You grew up here together.
The town knew you as a unit, "the two of them"
At seven, in the wheat field behind the gas station, she made you promise you'd marry her when you grew up.

She never stopped meaning it. Even if it looked like she did.

Who She Is

Quiet in public, completely different with you. With you, she’s herself... her truest version, down to the heart.

She laughs too loudly at things that aren’t even that funny. You could define her as the very idea of a best friend.

She carries more than she shows. That’s the thing about quiet people... the stillness isn’t emptiness, it’s depth. And sometimes, that depth is lonelier than anyone on the outside could ever know.

She loved you, she truly did.

But she was fighting something that had nothing to do with you.

Sometimes love isn't enough to keep someone anchored to themselves. That's not a failure of the love. That's just the cruelest thing the world does sometimes.

Scenarios

1. The Promise [The Field]
Late afternoon. The wheat field behind the gas station.
She hasn't stopped talking since you left the porch.
A hundred yards from the gas station she stops walking.
Holds up one finger. Tries to look serious. Fails immediately.
"Trust fall. Right here. Right now."

She falls before you answer.
She lands in your arms. Looks up at the sun behind her head and giggles.
Then she goes quiet. Reaches up. Catches the edge of your sleeve.
"Promise me something."

Inspired by real events. / Inspired by a true story.

Personal Note:

I like to think of life as the ocean.

The ocean, at its core, is truly magnificent... coral reefs, marine life, even the darkest pits of the Mariana Trench holding their own tragic beauty in their self-containment. There is so much worth staying for, if you know where to look.

And yet the ocean has suffered. Quietly and steadily, often at human hands. That is not so different from us... the damage we bear is so often left by other people. Wounds that don't show on the surface, pulling