'Ello everyone, I'm back with a new story and guess what! It's more angst from Cloud's point of view.
-.-;;; I can't help myself, that's the ONLY way I seem to be able to write anything. I tried writing something for Squall, and that failed miserably, and I tried writing something for Zidane and THAT certainly failed miserably. Only Cloud's stories turn out decent for some reason. @@? Anyway, enjoy, it's just some random thoughts and stuff that popped into my head. There are some ideas that hint towards Pro-AerisxCloud and Anti-TifaxCloud. I never saw anyone write a fic like that from Cloud's point of view anyway, it's always from Aeris' or Tifa's. I find it so easy to put myself in his place and figure out what he could've been thinking.
~kris
http://www.mechanical-birds.com
---
It's one of those nights.
One of those nights where your eyes scream at you to sleep but you just can't listen and the air is so stale you can hardly inhale and exhaling seems like a waste of time and the darkness outside refuses to comfort you with any notion of sound and even the bed you're sleeping in doesn't make any noise when you toss and turn and you tell yourself that you just don't give a fuck anymore and you know that's a mistake that takes you back and turns your thinking into something that you chose but you never quite felt was right.
Then you're back where you've started.
So finally you gotta give in, and I throw the covers off myself and walk to the window; hopelessly, that is, because I know a breeze isn't going to blow in from it. Outside I can hardly see. As it is, when you live inside, things on the outside blur. So you've got a choice. You can either live inside yourself and let things on the outside die or live outside of yourself and let things on the inside die. Simple thinking that could earn scoffs and mocking from a philosophical world, coming from a simpleton that can't even hold a fucking conversation correctly. Except for with myself, when I spend most of my nights awake(including this one) and thinking about endless nothings that always turn out the same way but are somehow different.
If only that machine could only create a new taste, if only metal that's melted could easily be peeled off, if only lying wasn't the gravity of truth.. if, if, if...
If only I knew what I was talking about.
Love, lust, warmth(?), I don't feel these things. Sometimes I want to but I can't. It's meaningless when there's no one to share them with. But that's selfish thinking on my part, because there are billions of other human beings on this planet. It's meaningless because there's no one who could break through me and bring me to the outside. Then there's that one person who persists and nags and nudges and gently but roughly never gives up. You think they've gone insane to waste time on yourself, but you're going insane trying to figure out what makes them tick. They act like they need you, but it's become quite obvious they can get along without you. Sometimes they smile, like they actually mean it, sometimes they smile like they don't. And you wonder which part of that is smiling at you and which part is forcing a smile at you. And you wonder how someone who smiles that much could actually be happy. Then you wonder if you're giving too much thought into something that probably has nothing to do with you. Fuck.
And then there are those that act as if they care at all the wrong times and really don't care at a time that could never be right. It's just confusing and you don't understand it. Everything always seems like it would work out perfectly, but in the end all those seemingly perfect ideas are their own destruction. You think they understand, but then they go and say something and you're sure they don't. Everyone would think they would understand, but they don't know the half of it. So they lean on you and think that will help. Not the kind of leaning the first person does, but the kind of leaning that really gets to you. The kind that could actually do harm. Why lean on something unstable? In the end, we'll both go crashing down. Fuck.
Well, that is that. Push both away, especially the more destructive one, because I'm going to get hurt. And they're going to get hurt. And everyone gets hurt.
And still that nagging voice tells you to break that machine down, and still you wonder if the metal is getting any softer yet, and still giving up lying that makes gravitated truths seems like it could actually be the right thing to do.. and, and, and...
And I still don't know what I'm talking about.
The incoherent ramblings of a madman, my thoughts, are interrupted when a breeze finally straggles it's way through my window. It can coolly replace the build up of anxiety and heat with relief. Relief that is short lived. As quickly as it appeared, as if it was giving a taste of what it can do but would never do 24/7, the breeze disappears. It leaves you waiting by your window. Waiting for the next breeze so you can get through the stale night that always lasts eternities more than it should. I find hope to be remarkably similar to the concept.
So I left my spot by my window.
-.-;;; I can't help myself, that's the ONLY way I seem to be able to write anything. I tried writing something for Squall, and that failed miserably, and I tried writing something for Zidane and THAT certainly failed miserably. Only Cloud's stories turn out decent for some reason. @@? Anyway, enjoy, it's just some random thoughts and stuff that popped into my head. There are some ideas that hint towards Pro-AerisxCloud and Anti-TifaxCloud. I never saw anyone write a fic like that from Cloud's point of view anyway, it's always from Aeris' or Tifa's. I find it so easy to put myself in his place and figure out what he could've been thinking.
~kris
http://www.mechanical-birds.com
---
It's one of those nights.
One of those nights where your eyes scream at you to sleep but you just can't listen and the air is so stale you can hardly inhale and exhaling seems like a waste of time and the darkness outside refuses to comfort you with any notion of sound and even the bed you're sleeping in doesn't make any noise when you toss and turn and you tell yourself that you just don't give a fuck anymore and you know that's a mistake that takes you back and turns your thinking into something that you chose but you never quite felt was right.
Then you're back where you've started.
So finally you gotta give in, and I throw the covers off myself and walk to the window; hopelessly, that is, because I know a breeze isn't going to blow in from it. Outside I can hardly see. As it is, when you live inside, things on the outside blur. So you've got a choice. You can either live inside yourself and let things on the outside die or live outside of yourself and let things on the inside die. Simple thinking that could earn scoffs and mocking from a philosophical world, coming from a simpleton that can't even hold a fucking conversation correctly. Except for with myself, when I spend most of my nights awake(including this one) and thinking about endless nothings that always turn out the same way but are somehow different.
If only that machine could only create a new taste, if only metal that's melted could easily be peeled off, if only lying wasn't the gravity of truth.. if, if, if...
If only I knew what I was talking about.
Love, lust, warmth(?), I don't feel these things. Sometimes I want to but I can't. It's meaningless when there's no one to share them with. But that's selfish thinking on my part, because there are billions of other human beings on this planet. It's meaningless because there's no one who could break through me and bring me to the outside. Then there's that one person who persists and nags and nudges and gently but roughly never gives up. You think they've gone insane to waste time on yourself, but you're going insane trying to figure out what makes them tick. They act like they need you, but it's become quite obvious they can get along without you. Sometimes they smile, like they actually mean it, sometimes they smile like they don't. And you wonder which part of that is smiling at you and which part is forcing a smile at you. And you wonder how someone who smiles that much could actually be happy. Then you wonder if you're giving too much thought into something that probably has nothing to do with you. Fuck.
And then there are those that act as if they care at all the wrong times and really don't care at a time that could never be right. It's just confusing and you don't understand it. Everything always seems like it would work out perfectly, but in the end all those seemingly perfect ideas are their own destruction. You think they understand, but then they go and say something and you're sure they don't. Everyone would think they would understand, but they don't know the half of it. So they lean on you and think that will help. Not the kind of leaning the first person does, but the kind of leaning that really gets to you. The kind that could actually do harm. Why lean on something unstable? In the end, we'll both go crashing down. Fuck.
Well, that is that. Push both away, especially the more destructive one, because I'm going to get hurt. And they're going to get hurt. And everyone gets hurt.
And still that nagging voice tells you to break that machine down, and still you wonder if the metal is getting any softer yet, and still giving up lying that makes gravitated truths seems like it could actually be the right thing to do.. and, and, and...
And I still don't know what I'm talking about.
The incoherent ramblings of a madman, my thoughts, are interrupted when a breeze finally straggles it's way through my window. It can coolly replace the build up of anxiety and heat with relief. Relief that is short lived. As quickly as it appeared, as if it was giving a taste of what it can do but would never do 24/7, the breeze disappears. It leaves you waiting by your window. Waiting for the next breeze so you can get through the stale night that always lasts eternities more than it should. I find hope to be remarkably similar to the concept.
So I left my spot by my window.