Every now and then, she pays him a reality check. Under normal circumstances, he would have tried to correct. He would have made himself scarce, discreet, and regret, ever soldiering this together, all a vain attempt.
Cold and calculating, just a minor defect. Simple and straight, she starves trust to death. Lonely roads, the sun's heat, she dreads. Despite this fear, she never lets it hover, the shade of a friend.
His ego, melted and reassembled like candle wax. ivy's scent caught him in a web. The blind man has a menial, a very unimportant niche. Cash the reality cheque, before it bounces right back.