Let's pretend for a moment that my life actually meant something
Let's pretend for a moment that my life actually meant something. Or my non-life, as the case may be. Because we don't actually exist, do we? How would we live, if we had a life outside of the missions that are handed to us by a leader we rarely see? A leader who knows us only by the numbers he assigned to us when we first came here. Would Demyx be some famous musician, a melodious genius recognized for his talent in playing the sitar? Because, let's face it, that kid is no fighter. And Zexion, maybe if he finally had a heart he'd admit to those non-feelings he holds for the sitarist.
But what would become of you? What were you like before this non-life? It's hard to imagine you as anything but what you are now. The determined, aloof, sullen warrior. The one I non-love. Maybe you weren't as sullen or aloof when you actually lived. It's too damn hard to think of you as any different than what you are now.
But where would I fit? What would I bring to the new existence of what would finally be…completeness? Wholeness? We've been fighting for so long, the ideals of what we're fighting for have been twisted. I turn to you and propose some insane idea and you look at me, somehow managing to be both amused and irritated at the same time. I still haven't figured out how you do that yet.
Another battle fought and the entire time you remained unmoved. Yet underneath it all an uneasy restlessness is growing in you. I know, because one has been growing in me, but for different reasons. I've been forgetting what we're fighting for, doubting the Organization's cause. You, however, don't care. You want to know why the keyblade has come to you. The silver-haired boy you fought, his disbelief at your wielding it only served to strengthen your resolve.
I've been trying to figure out the worth of all our non-lives. Whether to base the scale on the number of Heartless we've killed, the number of special missions each member has been sent on, or how useful our abilities are to the Organization has not been decided. All I know is that your life, non-life, holds the most worth to me, biased as I am. Zexion and Demyx are close seconds and everyone else can rot in hell for all I care.
You left today. Turned your back and just started walking. You could have cared less about those you were leaving behind. Those who don't quite exist. I tried to stop you, tried and failed. No one would miss me. I tried to tell you, but the damn words came out too late. That's not true! …I would… It's ironic, in a way. I had placed a worth on everyone's non-life but mine. And then I had it. Worthless. I was No one.