This is my first time publishing fanfiction and I'm very nervous. ;u; Reviews would be really really appreciated!
She is blind in the left eye. She sees an incomplete world. She does not know why, how, or since when she was like this. She does not know many things. After all, she is half-blind.
He is delusional. He sees a warped world. He knows many things, many different things. Things which were different from what others saw. After all, his glasses have been long crooked.
Her hair is like smoke, ink black, long, fine and wispy, and it slips through his grasp to dissolve into the already hazy air. He buries his face in her hair, it chokes him, corrodes his lungs, but this was her, so he didn't mind.
His hair is a shade of dirty ochre, wet with acidic rainwater and sweat, and it reminds her of kerosene as she runs her fingers through it. A mixture of chemicals drips down her thin forearm slowly, leaving behind a trail while the fumes cloud her mind, he was like this, and she was used to it.
Her porcelain skin is covered with scars and wounds, they would break open again often and she would calmly count the drops of blood which flowed out while tending to it, knowing that it would never heal completely. Sometimes, he would offer to help, and she would subtly push him away, but this was her, so he didn't mind.
His once immaculate white shirt is worn down, unbuttoned, torn and frayed at places. As the white fabric brushes past her collarbones, she notices that it was stained with what looked like petroleum – or was that dried blood? She dismissed it, he was like this, and she was used to it.
Her body is full of chemical residue. He can feel it accumulating slowly, steadily and surely under her spine as he embraces her. She never talks about it and neither does he, this was her, so he didn't mind.
His body is inseparable with metal. She can feel cold metal under the skin of his left arm, bolts and tubes and triggers making up the design of a hideous machine. He will pull away at times like this, offended, he was like this, and she was used to it.
And they kiss, not knowing, not caring that their bodies are slowly disintegrating into the waste that surrounds them. The atmosphere is thick with smog, the air reeks of garbage and chemicals and tears and steel and and, the pounding noise of heavy industry is deafening, for a moment, their senses are blurred, and they hold on tighter to each other
They kiss fiercely, forcefully, intensely – it is just a distraction.
Perhaps this was the closest thing to love they would ever have.