Watching As He Sleeps

Watching over him as he sleeps, I find no greater joy. The cadence of his breathing is a song my ear is now attuned to and my heart has become familiar with. Utterly defenseless, surrendering his trust, childlike in peaceful slumber, I can almost forget that he was the cause of past unhappiness, not only to me but to countless wives, daughters, lovers…how a child could steal so many lives is a mystery. How a child could steal my heart is a puzzle, and yet I feel contentment instead of shame. 

He is gentle with me. He is gentle with everyone except the nameless shadow warriors whose last vision was the light glinting on his katana. I loathe that weapon he keeps close to his side, and yet my hate does not extend to the wielder of the sword. Again, I surprise myself. Why do I divorce the mind that cloaks death in ideology? Why do I hold blameless the skilled arm that slashes the thread of life so quickly? I scorn Heavenly Justice and yet it is his belief in such that has caused him to exchange his soul and be an instrument of Tenchuu. I scorn Heavenly Justice but not its advocate. I choose to love a killer.

For that is what he is, and yet, his eyes remain pure, his heart remains pure. There are ghosts dancing like devils in those eyes, but they do not detract from the clarity of his vision, the focus, and the desire to do what he believes to be right.

I love his fierceness. I love his gentleness.

            I love the killer and the healer.

            I love the assassin and the medicine man.

            I love the child locked within the man.

            I love the man straining to shelter what's left of the child.

            I love him, the heart that calls to the sword; the sword that bleeds with the heart.

            Because of my love, I will let him sleep. I will stay awake, that he may not come to harm. I will keep the sword close, that he may no longer cradle it in his arms, that it may no longer steal sleep from him. I will keep his heart untainted, and if possible, I will be the one to bleed for him.

            The scar that marks his cheek is a painful reminder of what I had lost and still not avenged. But I will bear it. Because the man I thought I needed to kill does not exist. Instead, there is only him, my beautiful, tragic, second beloved one. I could not bear to lose him as well. Do I betray an earlier love? I am lost. My broken heart has been mended by the very person who cut it.

            Watching over him as he sleeps, I find no greater joy and no greater anguish.