Broken Stars; exist
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
You're only as old as you think you are.
It seems like we've been sitting here since the time passing seemed like a good thing. She's staring out the window with a dreamy look on her face. I'm staring at her, naturally. (She would ask you when the last time my expression changed was, exactly.)
We are not ourselves... The rain of Wutai has done something to us.
I'm not a monster.
She's not a brat.
We simply exist. Two people in the world.
Then there's the rain. Our only constant. I cling to it with both hands.
"Ya' know, Vinnie," she whispers suddenly, breaking the burning silence. Her gray eyes glitter mischievously, like she's sharing someone else's secret with me when she promised not to tell. Her gaze never leaves the rain. It's inside her. "...I think I felt like that once..." Her voice is strong. A world away from mine. (That's the problem, isn't it? Distance.) "Like we fall all the way down just so the sun can dry us up..."
Her eyes are on fire; suddenly blaring into mine.
The Turk in my gut wants to run. The human in my head wants to stop myself from hurting her. The demon in my chest is pounding against my skin to get out and just be here; be here and be with her and be someone that I didn't let myself be.
No—something tells me—that's my heart, isn't it?
"But, sometimes," she tells me urgently, hands sliding into mine. Her face is bright with whatever is behind her depthless eyes. I couldn't attempt a guess. "You just have to let the rain save you from yourself."
There is a voice in my head telling me that she's too close; one telling me that I'm too close; and one is silent, right where it wants to be. I'm right where I want to be.
So, being the selfish creature that I am, I pull her closer, and let my chin rest in her hair, pretending for a second that I'm not old, and she isn't young—that I've no need to atone and she isn't a thief child with skinned knees—that I'm the rain, she's the sun. That we have harmony.
"What do you want, you stupid cow?" she asks, muffled words making me shiver.
Over all the quarreling in my head, (forgiveness, light, dark, tears, death), I hear my own voice the clearest. "You."
And her breath only hitches for a second while the rain dripping down the cold window strips our façades and our masks back to that place where time's passing seemed a good thing.
With this girl in my arms I pretend for a moment that I am not a monster—that she is not a brat. I'm feigning brilliance and she has it for real. And while we sit— we almost exist.
A man. A woman. And a rainstorm.