Everything we do is absurd. We fight and claim to love. We tear each other apart and call it healing. I don't understand it and I'm not sure I care. If she understands, she hasn't told me yet. Her words hardly mean a thing anyway; it's her body that really speaks. Her bruised hands. Her wicked smile. Her glaring eyes. She is absolutely everything, every bit of everything that I'm not. She has her moments, when it's all she can do to keep her distance. She knows it shows on her face, and I'm not sure she cares. She knows I see her. Not like she sees other people, calculating and judging and moving at any given instant. She knows I see through her silence, her unspoken sarcasm hanging by the slender thread of her rare unguarded moments. Her treacherous hands. Her razor-blade smile. Her dangerous eyes. She can act so tame and pretend to cage the wildness in every spark of her body. I know her like I know no one else and I know everything in her wants a challenge. I know I gave her the challenge she wanted, from the first time she pulled me into a race under the raining sky. I know she mistakes herself for insane when all she is is strong. She doesn't know what to do with her resilience and doesn't feel like it's her place to survive. As if that makes her arrogant. As if it makes her cold-hearted. She doesn't know how to sort out the mess of emotions her confusion induces. Her bleeding hands. Her crackling smile. Her angry eyes. I've seen the fury that burns inside her. I know how deep it's rooted. And I know why. It's one of the few parts of herself that she isn't ashamed of, and I suppose I should be proud of her for it, for not wallowing in self-pity like it was all her fault. Every childish act, every sardonic word falling from a tongue like a whip - I know it's self-defense. I know it's a test of character. As if she's taunting the world - asking if it's brave enough to take on her wrath one more time. Her rough and gentle hands. Her bitter, hidden smile. Her sharp and seeking eyes. Of all the things I expected from her, last on the list was love. I didn't know she was capable of such a risky emotion. True, she seemed so reckless at first, but the longer I knew her, the more I realized that she was never, ever risky. I didn't know that even though her kiss was a challenge, her arms were a refuge. I didn't know that she fought so hard because of love. I didn't know that even when she tore me apart, her true intention was to heal. Every defense I threw in her face, she threw it right back to show me what I was doing to her. As if to say 'look, see what this is? You don't need it, and it's not your new pet, so quit messing with it. Let it go.' Everything I did was because I was trying to figure her out. Everything she did was because she was teasing me, coaxing me out of a dark I hadn't known I was blinded by. These scores of bruises and thousands of battle scars - everything we do is absurd. I don't think I'd tolerate it any other way.

Nyeh? Not much to say about this one, I'm afraid. Popped into my head a few days ago and wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. Probably a little OOC and not quite what I was going for, but it kept me occupied so I didn't put my head through a wall trying to write chapter 15 of Crash Burn Drown. … it is evil incarnate and is going to give me a seizure if I don't finish it. I dunno. Maybe it's just the fact that I can't focus. :P Never have been good at that.

In any case. Thanks for reading, it's appreciated. :] Constructive criticism welcomed. Not-so-constructive criticism also welcomed... with flamethrowers. ^.^