A/N: Um, hello. I'm catharsys. I haven't written anything in almost three years. My last (long overdue) update was published last year. But lately, I keep finding myself back in FF dot net at night, choosing Rurouni Kenshin fics over sleep. And then one day, I thought I'd write. So here it is! (Thankfully, I was still able to log into my account after x number of invalid email/password combinations.)
Best viewed in 1/2!
On the Edges of Perfection
She is my punishment.
Sometimes I still meet her in my dreams, when the sky is at its blackest, and her eyes are the only light I need.
Her eyes. Oh, how I love her eyes.
They are bluer than the ocean, deeper than the trenches. I could sense my being swimming in those pools of azure until I reach her depth, until I fully know her.
When they see me, they see straight into my soul. They see the blood on my hands and the ghost of my enemies. They witness all my darkness, my regrets, my past.
She embraces all of them. She embraces all of me.
I could never hide from her. I would never hide from her, because she deserves only the truth. And the truth is that I am far too broken to provide her the happiness she deserves. Far too damaged to be worthy of her time.
Yet, I remain selfish.
Yet, she smiles.
And her smile, I love it, too.
It is sincere and youthful and innocent. When she smiles at me, it's as if she knows I still have a second chance at redemption, that the tiny spark of humanity my bloodstained past left me with is all I ever needed to be saved. When she smiles at me, it's as if I'm a lost child and she is the angel to guide me home.
Home. I never had one in a long time, but this, too, she gives me.
Her gentle hands and loving arms provide me with warmth in my otherwise frozen world. When I feel her touch, all my self-delusions are dispelled, and my feet are once again rooted to the ground, and my hands are able to grasp the reality that is before me.
She is my reality. She is my truth.
But her skin starts to glow, followed by her smile, then her eyes.
She is my reality. She is my truth.
I can feel her embrace weakening, and I start to hear nothing.
She is my reality. She is my truth.
Frantically, I cling to her presence, but I feel myself losing against the force of the waking world, like a helpless leaf the wind tears off from a tree. From my source of life.
And there, I would ask mercy from all the gods to let me keep her. And there, I would be held immobile by the cold, hardened hands of the people whose lives were taken away by my sword.
She is fading, but not so.
In between my laborious sleeping and my unwanted waking, she remains there. On the edges of perfection, she stands, but does not beckon me to come. On my brittle hope, she stands. The epitome of beauty, a miracle away.
In what little sanity I have left, she sees me, she smiles, and she is constantly present.
But perpetually unattainable.
She is my punishment.