I am only a tool, only a weapon; I am not and never will be anything more.
I've stuck by him against all odds, given up any semblance of a normal life, sacrificed my sense of self to help him achieve his dreams.
His dreams are now mine. His morals shape mine, as I have shaped myself after his example.
Shinobi have no need for comfort, for the touch of another. Shinobi are strong, never longing for a hand to reach out or for a warm body to hold them when the nights are long.
I am no true shinobi.
I long for his acceptance, for something more than the endless stream of abuses and harsh criticisms. I long for some acknowledgement of the fact that I would give my life for his and die with a smile on my face.
I long for something I will never have.
Something I can never have.
My heart beats only to keep me alive, to allow this barren existence to continue indefinitely. My life is not under my control, my life is his. I am no longer my own person.
I am only a tool, only a weapon; I am not and never will be anything more.
Maybe if I keep telling myself these things I'll begin to believe them.