The fact was, Marlo had never chosen anything in his life. He had successfully avoided every single choice so far, and as he had lived on this planet for the past 22 years, this was quite a feat.
Until he met Hazel.
Hazel asked him all sorts of questions. She said things like: "This isn't enough!"- which alerted Marlo to the realisation that he was unwittingly denying himself- and "I can't believe you didn't bring it!"- which made Marlo suddenly aware of all the items he could have brought if only he had took the time to think about it.
"I don't see why I have to chose," he would reply to anyone who questioned him, before turning abruptly and stalking off.
"Well you're a bloody person aren't you?" Hazel retorted back the first time he had done this, while buying profiteroles from a food truck. "Don't you want things?"
Marlo had shook his head slowly, as if giving it some thought.
Hazel had stared. Finally, she had said: "I can only imagine how you sleep at night," before ordering caramel.
"On my back," he supplied, with a fleeting scowl that was quickly replaced by overwhelming contentment, bordering on euphoria.
Unbeknownst to Marlo, Hazel felt his heightened emotional state. His energy pooled and surged around his body, and on a night like this, where he had once again escaped the strangling experience that was providing an answer to a riddle his brain couldn't cope with, his energy flooded out to invade other spaces.
Hazel kept her energy clean, light, and constant. She had no time for the chaos that people resided in. She couldn't understand how they lived their lives with their physical being so submerged in the heavy, hollow drudge that dripped- or flew- onto her like globs of honey whenever she got too close.
For instance, just the other day Hazel had been walking down the street minding her own business, when a young man wearing a suit had sprinted past in a flurry of mixed cologne and medium-strength regret. His close proximity had sprayed her shoulder with little blue-and-yellow-streaked drops, staining her sleeve an off-mustard colour, and leaving a waft that brought up a long forgotten memory of when Hazel had walked into an unused sitting room at a strangers house as a child.
Hazel understood how close and tight the world could get.
"Well then," she stepped away slightly as she held out a profiterole, "Let's go to the park."
