G'day strangers, i've been meaning to write something akigure for a while and came up with this.. let me know what you think!
The first, softest touch as one tiny fist closed over my hand, from that day on branding my life as not my own. That determined grasp, ignoring the admiration, fear and praise of others singled me out after only minutes of coming into existence and held onto me, keeping a bizarre hold on me for as long as - for as long as she - . Not that I can remember back then, it sometimes comes to me when I'm writing, or cooking, or talking… sudden snapshots of before that make me have to stop for a moment and catch my breath. And swallow. And carry on.
That first suspicious look from her dark, tired eyelids as we screwed up explaining to her the only reason she was born was to die. She looked at me- she just accepted it, but she looked at me like I'd betrayed her… I wasn't to know… I hardly knew what any of it meant..
I kept my distance after that for a while - sure, I miraculously appeared whenever she needed me, but just being with her… I didn't want to watch as the shadows below her eyes grew deeper, her hair thinned and that determined first grasp turned to a bitter, resentful clutch on all of us. And then there was that one moment that I only experienced once, when she was convulsing and vomiting blood and her hands were clenched fiercely; angry clutches on reality that drove her nails into her soft palms. When, for an unclear, dizzying moment I laced my fingers through hers, protecting her pure, white skin from her own fury, holding her gently as she fought to keep away from me, wishing herself to be completely self sufficient. She only gave up after three hours when she was so exhausted she couldn't support herself any more- then she lay, for once furiously helpless in my arms until the sickness momentarily passed.
And then, then there was that first time. The beginning of my favourite of moments with her when she held me tightly and, feigning it was only for her pleasure, dropped the pretence and let me see the woman she had become. The children we had started life as had melted away into a lifelong attachment which, although it killed her to admit, she cared for. Her ever failing body clung to mine as I tried to shield her - us - from inevitability, like two drowning, fighting cats, wrestling with an ocean of death and forbiddance. We only lasted a year.. that winter blew in a cold and bitter wind that doused the last spark of hope she had left. It was like she didn't even care.
"I hate you."
Because you made me care.
"I hate you too."
Because I can't be without you.
Then, fighting for every last breath she left me with a fierce kiss still lingering on my lips. Still lingering in my mind. The others moved on with vulgar mock disappointment while I forced myself into some kind of normality, still feeling her commanding hand on my skin, her slow breath toying with my hair.
I say her name out loud sometimes, just so I wont hear an answer. Make pathetic excuses so I can go back to where she died so I can feel again… I never expected to be empty. I never expected to feel any of this…
I guess I must have really hated her.
I think I still do.