"Let's make a bet."
A bet? Those words are full of anticipation already. They suggest a glimpse of hope, and survival, whilst simultaneously of mind games that can turn a person inside out and make them vomit up their own ignorance. Forced to live with that memory for seven years.
"If you and I should ever meet again…"
Ah Yes! I can see it now. Pieced together in a blazing front, wild with the smell of cigarette smoke, cold looks dart across the space between our parallel faces. Colours such as black and white are forgotten as the world collapses beside us.
"…let us live together for one year."
A year to fill life with all the wonders of simplicity, a year full of emotions of all kinds that wind together to become what can only be described as bliss. But bliss is ignorance as they say, and we will become the living proof of that.
"My heart is the direct inverse of yours…"
Two sides of the same coin! Front and back, black and white… opposites attract.
"… You are kind, pure and honest. And I'm sure that's how you will continue to grow up. Your heart will remain pure."
Is it even possibly for someone, or anything, to be pure? Why not, because by the end of it there will be nothing more tainted then ourselves, like fresh snow soaked in the growing pain of blood. At least it's good fertilizer, so the camellias will surely flourish for the next year.
"So, if we should ever meet again…"
Now the snow has turned into blossoms. Does that really matter? Yes, we will meet and we will live. We will experience and share everything that does not matter. But will we die?
"…I will try my hardest to learn to love you."
Then nothing else will matter, will it? It could just be the two of us, or maybe three. During that year of ignorance where many emotions dwell I'm sure love was a primary force. If only your voice did not continue… can't we leave it there?
"Just for one year…and after that year, if I can consider you 'special',"
What does that even mean? Objects can be precious. Pets can be loved. Toys can become special. That's it! Your toy mouse that you will chase and scratch and stalk for seven years. It isn't what you'd call love, or an attachment to something precious it's an obsession and you won't be able to let your toy have any fun of its own.
"You will have won…"
I tremble at the thought of a prize.
"…and I will not kill you."
I wish you had not a slither of generosity in that place you call a soul out of simple necessity.
"But, if I cannot consider you special to me- if I cannot distinguish the difference between you and that corpse, then…"
The mind tricks will begin, to the point when I will remember this night with regret! Regret and pity, I suppose, that I am not already that corpse you call a twig.
"…I will kill you."
I relish the thought.
"And so today…"
Until we meet again and spend that year together, only to watch as it becomes wasted space like every other year over the seven others where I will play cat to your mouse in wolf's clothing.
"I will let you go."
I wish you could. If that were possible I'd be already be dead.