comments/spoilers: this is my delving into the inner
workings of Kuchiki Rukia through a stream of conscious (yeah, I've
been reading Virginia Woolf lately) outlook in. It's in past
tense but Rukia is not in the past, for she spans all of time. A
lot of nature imagery, which is kind of odd for me, but hey, it just
sort-of came out there.
Perfect Paradox
She was the wind sighing in the trees, and the trees knew naught what else they saw. She was the whispering through the air, and the air couldn't fathom her beauty. No one could. She became lifeless, yet she was absorbed through the hearts, the minds, the memories of those who could reach to her and know so little, know so much.
Who could really know Rukia, then? She wasn't easily grasped or even tangible; she couldn't be touched by anybody, yet she was tied, intertwined, you might say, into every life there ever was, that ever will be. She was the past, the present, the future… the world, life, the specks of light, the tinge of water on skin and ink on paper, the curve of a smile, here and there, the invisibility of lines she knew yet couldn't grasp. As much as she was, as little as she was, she was always there. You couldn't say she was demanding or scared or frightened in the very least, no, you couldn't say that with all her hint of sorrow and understanding, of being alive to see the world for so long, could hurt her, maim her, touch her, in the very least. No.
But skin on skin and breath on breath she was; she needed life that he gave her; without him she couldn't remember a time when she felt so right. Eternally happy, was it, or was it the beginning of something in the middle of her eternity because she was always in the middle. Of her eternity.
Don't say "Rukia is this…" or "Rukia is that…" for so many have tried, so many have failed, to describe. Language couldn't, the trees couldn't, you couldn't, how much you have tried, but indeed the whispers of the air may be close to the truth, the shades of the world may be full of color and darkness, although the world you breathe in cannot compare to the one she knows. And yet… you say, she is only human, you believe and know the utter complexity of the paradox that surrounds her.
She's only human, indeed.