✿— she is imperfect, I'll tell you that
she is unreasonable, I'll tell you that
she is beautiful, I won't tell you that,
'cause her beauty is only mine to see and hold …
… b u t —
Hollow.
They're hollow.
In the silent darkness, those milky eyes are burning coldness through the plain walls before him. His bare chest heaves up and down slowly. His form is slouched – which is strange, because he was raised to have an erect posture, proper etiquette. Despite the slouch, his head is facing forward, his mind quiet. Just quiet.
He tries and tries and tries to ignore the individual dozing off peacefully beside him, exposed underneath the sheets. The sheets, which are thin, trace her body, every curve and bump – nothing special but something special. Thankfully, she isn't facing him, but he can picture the serene smile etched on her face, possibly glowing in the darkness – the only light in the darkness.
The light that will disappear.
His eyes (oh, so hollow, so deep, so … nothing) are now trained on her. Her brown locks are messily splayed all over the side of her face and pillow. They are just tempting him to comb his fingers through it finely, and it just hurts him. He isn't as tempted as before.
She snores, not loudly though not lightly, but it's enough for him to hear, enough for him to bear. It's an off-key lullaby, though an on-key tragedy.
Regrettably, he shakes her, waking her. He's ruining her peace; he's ruining her happiness; he's ruining himself; he's ruining her; he's ruining and ruining everything.
She turns over, facing him with bleary eyes containing exhaustion – he can see the love dominantly, though, happily accepting his presence. She tilts her head to the side, strands of delicate brown falling over her chocolate windows.
"What is it?" she whispers, voice almost (damn it, almost) frightening the darkness, sending it to its doom.
He swallows down the ugly emotions threatening to spill out of his system, out from his heart. He lifts up a hand that suddenly feels so light and brushes away the hair hiding those eyes. He needs to look at them; this won't turn out great if he doesn't see them.
Minutes, seconds, and milliseconds ago, he woke up with a start. White eyes were wide with a shock full of realization and a bag carrying knives of pain. Pain, pain, and pain shot through his heart repeatedly, never-ending and hitting the target just right. He immediately looked at her, sleeping and ecstatic on how he had held her and kissed her earlier on, and wanted to die.
He woke up, jolted upright, and started feeling nothing.
He cups her chin, breath shaking. He lets her read his eyes, which are screaming everything he's holding in and dropping all the emotions onto the palm of her hand. Her bleary eyes, now awake and wide, read everything, sentence by sentence, word for word, emotion to emotion. She reads everything.
His lips touch hers, though not capturing them. He feels her warm breath and smells her sour aroma from their previous activity. His eyes never once (and don't want to) stray from her realizing ones.
She understands but doesn't know.
She knows but doesn't understand.
Perplexity and immense hurt kick away the love in her orbs, shrieking out, "Why, why, why?" and "How, how, how?"
And his eyes just say, "I don't know."
Because he doesn't know why, doesn't know how …
"It's time to say goodbye," he murmurs, voice combining with the light sobs from the other. "I'm sorry, Tenten."
It's time to say goodbye to hello, goodbye to the moments, goodbye to the feelings, and goodbye to you. You, you, you, and you especially.
Earlier, they were creating love all over again, embracing the night sky with happiness, and feeling the hot energy around them as they as they danced. They were inside and outside, outside and inside – and repeat.
Hollow.
They're hollow.
He's hollow.
His heart, now tainted with regret and confusion, is hollow.
And the sad part is –
He doesn't kiss her. He let go of her chin and lets go of the connection between the eyes, destroying the tragic conversation exchanged between. He just lets go.
He goes, trying desperately to block out the deafening sobs.
– he doesn't know why.
—it's gone
it's finished
it's nothing
but something
never forget
will always know
he'll try to move on
and let his heart learn to grow.—
x
. and the petals fall, fall, & fall .
x