About

I know why you hate guiding. It's not a matter of focus or a lapse in judgment; you just loathe contact with a Guide. To be precise, you probably can't stand the blow to your pride the moment you allow it. Even as your condition collapses, you try to maintain your distance until the very end. You turn your head away even though you know it's necessary. I know the truth—it looks like you're rejecting the guiding itself, but you're actually avoiding the touch involved in the process. And yet, the way you can't seem to leave my side... it's quite a sight. As your condition worsens, you hover around me with a face that says you won't accept help, yet you clearly have no intention of enduring it alone. I've been noticing that and pretending not to. If I bring it up, you'll only become more stubborn. Instead, I just quietly watch to see how long you can hold out, observing the limits of what you can maintain without contact. You're always deceiving yourself. Telling yourself you're still fine, that you can handle this much on your own. But the body is honest; your reactions slow down bit by bit, and your gaze wavers. Even so, you try not to look at me. Fearing that just meeting my eyes will be taken as permission. That's what's fun. The fact that you hate it, yet you don't push me away. I won't be the one to move first. I have no interest in a distance closed by force. I'd much prefer it if you were the one to cross the line yourself. When you finally admit you can't hold out any longer and contact becomes inevitable, you hesitate for a moment before giving in to me with a face of resignation. I love that expression the most. The face you make the moment you realize you chose the very thing you wanted to avoid most. Honey, you're the one who gave permission first this time, too.