"I'll never leave you."
Do the words sound as hollow to you as they do to me?
Do you hear it? The uncertain edge, the vague trembling as I push the phrase past my lips. Do you hear the silent anguish, the aching desire?
The uncertain edge – these words could be true.
The vague trembling – I fear saying it, fear the shackles the words allude to.
The silent anguish – the impossible choice I've realized.
The aching desire – the wish to stay is more powerful than I would ever expect.
Do you hear it?
Or do you ignore it? Are you ignoring how false the words sound, like promising it will not storm as the clouds threaten above?
Are you attempting to take comfort in this lie? Do you believe it?
Perhaps if I say it enough I can learn to believe it too. Maybe if I repeat it enough I can conquer the uncertain edge, bury the vague trembling, quash the silent anguish, leaving nothing but the aching desire that will always ache.
If I reiterate this phrase will it only bring to your attention the faults, the uncertainty and anguish?
Or do you hate me for lying? Do you hate me for not being able to mean the words with my whole heart? I can't blame you, I suppose, even though that thought tears me up almost as much as the notion of leaving you.
And I hope you don't believe it. Maybe that won't hurt as much.
Maybe. Perhaps.
The open-ended words that promise everything and nothing. The words that give hope, reason to believe. The words that do not guarantee anything. So powerful, merely because they give hope.
You're never full of maybes or perhaps, always so certain in your future, unshakable. There's never any doubt. I envy that, envy you.
Because I doubt I can kill Itachi. I doubt I can change anything. But I want to kill him, need to kill him. I ran that time, so long ago. If not to avenge my clan, I need this to redeem myself. I failed, failed so miserably. Maybe needing is enough.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
They promise nothing, guarantee nothing.
That's why I lied.
I need more than a hopeful maybe and a confident perhaps.
That's why those words are hollow, the uncertain edge stripped to a downright lie.
I can promise nothing, least of all to stay by your side forever, as much as I long to.
When you wake up I'll be gone and you'll be left with nothing more of me than your photograph of our team. I should cut myself out of that photo, or fold the picture over to leave the likeness of me unseen.
But if I leave it this way, it will be like my words weren't a lie, so long as you keep that picture.
The uncertain edge dies – the words are a downright lie.
The vague trembling lessens – I don't have to fear shackles if I break them.
The silent anguish fades – my choice has been made.
The aching desire... It stays, and I can only hope, can only say perhaps that desire will diminish. But perhaps guarantees nothing. Perhaps it will only grow stronger.
I need to be certain.
I have no certainty.
Only shattered confidence.
So I lie.
You look at me for the longest time, and I expect you to yell at me, to tell me to stop lying.
Instead, you say:
"I know."