He draws incessantly
Chips of cool, translucent jade that cut like diamonds,
Because it's the only thing he can do.
And waves of fine silk the hue of new roses;
So every day he collects scraps of paper
Creamy porcelain skin hiding cold steel
And the nubs of pencils and crayons and burnt bits of wood,
And a bow-shaped smile as sincere as salt water in a crocodile's eye.
And draws incessantly:
At once a fragile blossom
Her face,
And a force of nature,
Her being,
A flower silly enough to love a snake
And pours his quickly fading memories into her immortality
And a woman strong enough to keep on loving; however:
Because she is gone.
Snakes do not make good company.
-----
Naruto sat on the hospital chair, despair and guilt making him patient for once in his life. The invalid in the bed next to him ceased moving his hand over the scrap of paper, and offered it to him with a blank, innocent grin. Hiding a grimace behind a calm smile, Naruto accepted the scrap solemnly.
"Good job, Sai. It's very pretty."
The blank grin widened, and the boy began rummaging for another paper. Naruto glanced down at the paper he'd been given.
Somehow, even after the boy's mind had been destroyed, when even Tsunade doubted he would even be able to hold a brush again, it still looked like Sakura. Something in the secretive little bow of the smile, perhaps, or maybe in the slightly narrowed eyes.
The crunch of the paper in his hands was not heard by the disabled Sai, as Naruto revised his promise made so many years ago. Oh, Sasuke was coming back, that would not change.
He would come in pieces.
Many, many pieces.
