Scribbles for KuroFai:

The rain soaks through the uniform he is wearing, clotted and heavy with mud and water and someone else's blood. The torrid gunfire from both sides of the enemy lines has yet to cease, and he is hiding between fragile vertexes of broken walls, watching his comrades raging forward into the pits of hellfire. But he isn't joining them, there is someone waiting for him behind enemy lines, Haylan stare hard through the crumbling dust of the rubbles fallen by blind grenades and intense machine gun fire, past the gray grim world he is trapped in right now and tried to envision his lover, still waiting…still waiting in peaceful lands…calling him…calling him home…

~.~.~.~.~

I find myself stopped by the look you have in your eyes, that look puts me at a crossroad once again. I don't know if you were aware of this hunger in me that can't be satisfied, that I will always be running. Don't pull the reins too tight on me because it will only snap back to you. How long have you been waiting? You look so much older now. I hope the years have been kind to you when I have not.

These deep welts of pain…you haven't been able to let go…or was the pain there because you have to let go? How many times have I told you that I was not deserving of your love? Your misty eyes told me you never understood. Don't you see it? Hold my hands then…do you feel the weight of your devotion between my fingers? These hopes you carry in your heart, I will only ever be able to repay them with guilt.

My love…my love…you will never flourish with my presence. You will only wither. Take a deep breath, feel the winter air in your lungs. The ice is melting. Spring is coming. Love, ponder upon your moment of melancholy…I don't ever want to see you crying the tepid tears of regret. The end of each pole is never shrouded in darkness, reach for the light, love, and walk towards it. Your heart is young and I am gone…so long…so long ago it has been.

Your warm clammy skin rises and falls beneath my fingers. Are you battling your nightmares again? But don't be afraid my love. The darkness is fading soon and the cold mist of dawn is approaching. I hear you whisper my name. I feel it ghosting across the surface of my skin. I sigh. You cannot hear it…

~.~.~.~.~

Like the favonian winds blowing across the land, your presence wraps itself around me bringing the scent of spring, which infuses with the scent of yours. On the roof top, the windsock flaps and twirls and the golden brown hues of the wheat field, bends and waves as the movements of the wind sweeps past the hanging spikelets at the tip of each stalk. I am waiting for your return from the march of war since last winter past, your letters crumpled and yellow in my hands like the sunset viewed from the south. I have heard the whispers of defeat spreading through the lands. The town folks here view me with pity in their eyes. I resent their lack of belief in your promises. Where are you dear? The loneliness is getting so loud that I could barely hear myself anymore…

~.~.~.~.~

He picked up the cigarettes Fay loves to smoke and lit one. He rolled the tip of it between his thumb and index, feeling the firmness of the filter, brought it to his lips and sucked. The fumes crowded his mouth, acrid, dry and pungent. Why did so many consider this a pleasure? He breathed in the smoke and felt the airy substance choke up in his airway, swallowed it, coughing all the while as his lungs absorbed the toxics within. He took another puff, deeper and harder, aware of the dizziness that was causing a strange sort of lightness in him. Nothing strong but it still manages to tilt his world a little. Was this what Fay was always looking for, this lightness of being? As the chemicals flowed through his body and mind, he starts to understand why. Humans are weak against themselves he guessed, sometimes, a little help and damage incurred on the body strengthens you instead. We all crave that numbness sometimes.

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"Was that the real reason why you didn't stop Fay from moving out?" Kurogane asked as he buried his head within his hands, voice wavering "was that why you were so angry when I mended our relationship?"

George walked to the window and stood there looking at the sprinklers out in the garden, the fine spray of water created an abstract array of rainbows in the air. It was sad that life was not like the cheerful colors of those rainbows, and they were no longer able to look through life through rose-colored glasses. How would he answer that? He could kneel forever infront of the lord questioning what want wrong, asking why the fates of his children were damned from the start, but the sins of his children are his to carry. He has no right to question. He has no right to demand for neither mercy or justice, only to bear the passing of his family's secrets and the deaths it carries with it, silently and alone.

"I'm your father and both of you are my sons…how do you expect me to accept this?"

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The frail skinny figure with blonde hair moved around the apartment, as if he was in the midst of doing whatever he would on a normal day at home. But if one were in the apartment with him, one would immediately see what was wrong. His quiet mumblings filled the air around him, occasionally interrupted with a soft tinkling laugh, undisturbed by the fall of hair covering the front of his face. He seems to be in a conversation with someone. He seems not able to register the fact that he lives alone and that the apartment was currently devoid of visitors.

His apartment cleaned barely a week ago was in a complete mess again. The take away boxes were thrown all over the coffee table and the kitchen counter, the food inside moldy and in the process of rotting. The man was unconcerned by the smell emanating from those inconspicuous boxes, walking pass them as if they weren't there. The television had been switched on for days on end, the sounds of talk shows and dramas broadcasted back to back provided the man an inane sort of comfort. His hair was starting to mat and grease and his body stank of sweat, he had not showered or bothered to brush his teeth. He doesn't know what is wrong with him.

He feels like he is forgetting something but he can't remember, so he keeps asking himself questions, posing them aloud. It's been days and he still wasn't remembering. He needed to ask his brother something, that he was sure of, but what? And why wasn't his brother here yet? He is awfully late. Maybe he should call him…where was his phone…what is his number?

~.~.~.~.~

We grew not into the names of our families, but the names that were given to us. It was a burden inevitable. We cannot go back to what we used to be. We can only get use to a relentless life full of someone else's expectations, which have been paved out for us since our grand entrance to life. They schemed to render us slaves for their wants. In the process of shouldering the responsibilities, we have learnt to forsake desire. How long do we have to wander these labyrinths of hallways and doors that never lead to anywhere? We are becoming men who are desperate for the youth of yesteryear, not for the fear of age but for the fear of forgetting what had been important to our hearts. But the night never lasts and the sun always sets too soon…As we stand at the edge of this leering cliff of choices, our tremulous limbs chained to its worldly earth, we mused on the possibility of an impending end. But light is here, birthing another new dawn. We understand that the masks have to be back on, and we shutter our eyes, souls, minds and hearts to face the lives of those strangers who comes…

~.~.~.~.~

I looked at the note, following the clumsy loops and scrawls that scribbles into a line on the parchment, making each word unreadable by the end of the last three alphabets. I don't have to understand all of it to know what you are trying to say to me. Simple words…if I were anymore ignorant, they might not have possess that much of strength to hurt. But it did. I traced my finger over the ink, felt the uneven surface of the parchment, the intensity and intentions of the words you have written. The parchment smells of the aftershave you like, there is even hints of what you had for breakfast. I imaged you pondering on what to write during and the why did you write it. Of course, it was the best for both of us, you would say. It is always for our best interest. I believed it three years ago. I don't now.