After Afterall
A short poem depicting Sasuke's feelings for Sakura.
She's the kind of girl you write poetry for.
Not free verse and not some perfect abab rhyme scheme; she's not perfect. You don't even have to follow any kind of meter; why would you? Neither of you followed the rules during your time together. Don't try to copy Blake, Cummings, Shakespeare or Donne because none of them would do her justice; she is too unique for any of that. You might take Hem's advice and "write drunk; edit sober" but it wouldn't be for the hope that you convey your true feelings; she knows exactly how you feel about her and that's the reason you drink. Don't be ambiguous, as poetry usually is; yes, you know the ambiguity's there to create depth, but, and it kills you, depth is not something you had the privilege of having with her (your time was too short). But, for the love of God, it does have to be a sonnet. One that tears your heart apart just like the break between the octave and the sestet because that's what she's done to you (you've done the same to her to be fair). You didn't spend long together but in the time that you did, you've never felt more perfectly fitted for anyone, like the circle to circle, square to square matching game you played when you were a kid. That's how she made you feel: like a kid again. Not in a child-like, throw-all-your-inhibitions-andresponsibilities-away kind of way, but in the way the right girl should make you feel: light, strong, fulfilled. With one look of her dangerous green eyes she made your heart stop; she would give a slight raise of her eyebrows as your eyes would lock, immediately after which you had to use all the strength you could muster not to kiss her, and make you feel like, as you once told her, she was some ethereal "creature" (that's one only she would get) that was too much of an idea (not a person) to be sitting in front of you. Her (heartbreakingly adorable) way she tries to mask her insecurities with aggression is too much to write about; there are things too delicate and perfect in life to try and describe, this is one of them (you hope one day she truly knows that). You guess, if anything more than an unjustifiably broken heart, she's given you inspiration and hope. And so you hope, that just like the hands of a clock meet at 12, just like the moon will again eclipse the sun, just like a stubbornly retreating tide will rise, she and you will cross paths again. But until then, you put hope in your back pocket and squeeze out every bit of inspiration you can.
She's the kind of girl you write poetry for; so you write.