Love does not exist.
I don't believe in fairy tales.
And yet here they are.
Roxas feels like he should love her, knows he should. Sometimes he even feels like he could. He does all the things he is supposed to- kisses her, holds her, murmurs sweet things. He wishes he could, but he doesn't love her.
Aerith is like a being out of a fairy tale. She is like an ethereal angel, descended from heaven. She has a smile like a blossoming flower, and gives rose-colored kisses.
He doesn't love her.
Aerith's soprano voice cuts through the silence blanketing the abandoned church, clear, lovely.
Aerith pats brown dirt surrounding a delicate shoot growing from the earth.
Aerith brushes her slender fingers across Roxas's face.
He doesn't love her.
The young woman loves him. She knows that something is amiss, but she doesn't care. She loves him from the depths of her soul, almost more than her fragile body can handle. She knows he tries. He tries so hard to make their kisses real, to put emotion in their embrace. He tries harder than he's ever tried to do anything.
He doesn't love her.
When Aerith's birthday comes around and Roxas buys her a silly little expensive trinket, not the ring she longs for, he wants to say, "I'm sorry."
Her pretty green eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I love you," she says. It's her way of saying, "It's all right."
And now she is standing on the bridge. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I loved you so much… Roxas! I love you!" The wind whips her cinnamon hair.
She jumps.
The last thing she sees is Roxas trying to reach her, screaming her name.
Maybe he did love her after all.