Sakura wrote in her diary, letters that were not addressed or signed. The diary had been bought on impulse in a street stall-it was a plain blue diary, with lovely cream pages. For a while it sat on her bedside table, until she, at last, picked it up and started her letters. She wrote sporadically, sometimes in the deep chambers of night when she could not sleep, sometimes a few phrases scribbled quickly while waiting in line at the grocery. In front of me, she would write, is a woman who is wearing a bright red shirt with ruffles upon them. You would be amused at how much it reminds me of your fireball. In the midst of a thunderstorm she wrote pages and pages describing how lovingly the raindrops fell upon her roof, even you would enjoy this sound, almost like tap dancing, or fingers drumming upon a desk.
In the fall, she wrote of her new coat. It is so lovely, a faded plaid, and it matches so well with the crisp leaves and hazelnut coffee. You would laugh at my strange notions. You would laugh and smirk and walk away—
When winter came, Sakura wrote once again. Snow has finally fallen; it's so beautiful, covering all of Konoha in a muted blanket. Children rush about the streets in a giddy happiness, much like how we would slip and slide down the alleys when we had no missions. Winter would suit you. You would wear a scarf and the snow would dust your hair until only the very tips of black would show. You would grumble about the cold and moodily drink your hot chocolate, and Naruto would laugh at how silly you look with your nose and cheeks all pink from the cold. Winter, I think, would dress you well.
And sometimes Sakura wrote small phrases, neatly tucked into the wrinkled pages of her diary, hidden and sweet. Those halcyon days-The torn house asunder-an impressionable little thing-thus, thus, thus, thus-
Then one day on her way home from work, Sakura found that there were no more pages. Her little diary had finally run out of spaces for her wandering hand. She stopped walking. The little book had been taken out for a quick anecdote about the ramen stand she had just passed that they once had, all three of them, eaten at. And here it was, small and defeated, resting in her hand, forlorn and filled with too many memories and wouldhave's. Sakura put it back into her bag and continued walking down the street, at a loss on what to do. What now, she asked herself. She went into her apartment and locked the door, and very quietly sat down on the floor and cried.
A/N: Reviews, please and thank you. I wrote this after shortening it drastically. 'The torn house asunder' phrase is taken from Edgar Allen Poe's story, Fall of the House of Usher. There is a good chance that there will be a part two to this drabble, although my schoolwork load will dictate when it will actually be written.
I hope you enjoyed this drabble!