I looked up to the pouring rain watching it hit my glasses, the feel of the cool wet wall behind me; I was lost. I went around this block; at least I think it would be called a block, about ten times, because I know I've seen that telephone booth, whatever, three times. I sighed, and closed my eyes, clutching the box in my pocket, what could I tell you once I found you? Why I didn't think of this while on my probably five mile walk I'll never know, you'd probably comment it's because I'm an idiot. What would you want to hear, other then me bluntly stating I'm a moron? What could I tell you to make your obvious misery disappear, and was better then just sorry? You know I'm not good with words, so it's the only way I could honestly impress you. Or show that I did listen when I was little, that I do have manners. How do I say that I loved you more then a brother back then, in the year I started the collapsed of your first empire? So many questions, and not enough answers, as I push off the wet wall and look at the semi-crowed streets.
Quickly breaking my habit of walking around in circles, which I was probably doing subconsciously, to where I finally could tell where I was going. The lump in my throat I can't sallow, my shaky breath, how obvious could I be? I stared at the approaching door, not in nervousness, but more in fear; I'm afraid to come here now? I try to suck it up and pull my usual happy façade. This doesn't work in my knock, though I rang the bell instead, and my happy disposition springing to my face once the door opened. Trying to not notice the puffiness in your eyes, you don't cry as far as, you think, I know. "Hey, Artie!" my voice rings as I continue to subconsciously clench and unclench the box in my pocket. You blink, a bit surprised I was there it seemed, "America!" you shout, never my real name, "Get in here before you catch a damned cold!" I laugh and try to shoo your worry, not to much anvil as you pull my jacket off, which I don't do willingly. Though I settled with taking it off and hanging it on the back of your door, as you proceeded to boss me around so I wouldn't catch a cold. Though it was more then likely too late being how long I've been in the rain.
As was proven when I started to cough and my temperature began to rise. Thus you plopped me on the couch or sofa as you would say, and wrapped me up in a blanket. I watched you run around, wondering why I did this to you, though you don't cry when I'm around. As I noticed the rain started to lighten against the roof. A soft content hum left my throat; it was relaxing here for some reason. Trying to watch you still stifling a yawn, while you called someone, obviously trying not to sound worried with me so near. You don't worry about me anymore, as you show it. You seem cold and distant even if you not but fifteen feet from me, four and a half meters you would correct.
How I would love to rip my hair out over this, but I'll just be passive and act like I don't know what's going on, because that's what I always do. And there's no way to apologize for something like that. Plus you will never, neither will I, forget when I shattered your heart, though you think I have selfish reasons for it. You don't know the true ones and it'll stay that way. Only because I can't take that back and I wouldn't want to, you finally see that I surpass you on some level. I'm much stronger now, and taller at that, but you could never accept it, to you I'm still a naïve child. Maybe I am, but it would be your fault wouldn't it? I sighed, and decided to close my eyes and listen, your hushed and muffled voice, it's oddly soothing. Like I've heard it so often, but I don't; maybe when I was a kid?
I hear your footsteps approach and the ghost of your hand, well light touches at least, and your aura screamed that you were breaking down. Though being me, I had to ignore it, resist the ever present urge to just cradle you, till your crying stopped. My fingers twitched, and thankfully I looked asleep to you; you were hesitant to do what you had when I was young. Instead you walk away and look out the window, unaware I'm watching as you go. You look very troubled, though I know I'm more then likely the cause, being a heavy burden on you isn't my wish. Though it's where I have to stay, and it's killing us both slowly. I wish I had your knowledge of words, just to know how I could say all I feel, but then again I'm America.
It's all traced back to me, no matter how I look at it, as depressing as that sounds. What is the constant in my life, other then you? What was the story you talk about so much, Romeo and Juliet? Didn't Juliet say not to swear to something so inconsistent? At least that what you tell me, not to swear to you by the moon, the inconsistent moon, an allusion you think I don't know. Though if I swear by you, that wouldn't be inconsistent would it? You were always there for me, right? I shut my eyes tightly and let out a noise and feel your gaze turn to me again. You think I'm having a feverish nightmare don't you? I feel your touch once again and relax almost instantly, you run your fingers through my hair. You're less rigged with your actions now as you sit on your knees, much as Japan always does. I just help but sigh contently; it's more relaxing when you don't feel rushed. Though you attention is peeled from me, more then likely due to the knock on your door, who did you call exactly?
I hear you start to walk away from me, more then likely to answer the door, and I hear familiar hushed voices. I start to head into an R.E.M. sleep, though I don't want to, as I hear the familiar voices and yours come closer. They speak to each other in a fluent language before answering you, a very neo-Latin language. Though their tongues clash in a way, but it's defiantly not English, until one of them speaks to you. Who was it? I know them, but whom; their name wasn't coming to find nor was a face. Almost like they were invisible, or I've never met or seen them. Though I hear the other's laugh and an accented English flow, more then likely France, "Mon ami, it is not good, to place a guest on your sofa." He said, making you huff slight anger, though the timid voice spoke again, who could France bring with that I knew? "Yeah, eh? Then again, Alfred is one of the bigger nations," he said in his soft voice. I could tell this troubled you, as your reminded how much bigger I am now, "I know, Matthew, and I don't have one of Kiku's fancy reclining chairs." Always so respectful, you call everyone, excluding France, by their human name, though I can't place who 'Matthew' is yet. The three of you walk away to talk to each other about what to do with me, more then likely anyway.
Though my chest starts to hurt, and not all the uncommon hurt, with you gone, but you haven't really left right? We have that special relationship your boss made, though whether you had your say in it or not you wouldn't say. How I've managed to keep awake this long, I'm not sure, but I'm defiantly slipping in and out. Though as much as I don't want to I slip into a quiet slumber, while you spoke with your new company, I'm still trying to figure out who they are.