. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It's the first day of summer. Trapped in the confines of this tall building, it's impossible to tell. I did this to myself really.

I think.

I don't remember and I couldn't tell you if it was even my own choice.

It probably was.

I had been molded strategically—maybe accidentally—to have a strong sense of justice and duty. I must be accepted by everyone, because there is no other option. It is an irrefutable expectation.

But I am not a design.

So I am not perfection.

I know all this, yet I still act the way I do. And I am weird. I blend into society perfectly, even when I don't want to. I wonder if this was created for me as well, so that I couldn't escape myself and what they wanted me to become. I apologize, because I can't even tell you who all the many "they" is.

I've been told I'm a genius. Maybe I am. I used to think so.

Now I don't think I am.

I don't even know who I really am. How could I be a genius if I excel in a world from which I wish to remain entirely detached?

Looking at the oddity I have been chained to, for the sake of proving my normalcy—my false normalcy—it has become so clear that I am not fit to be classified the way I have been. Why?

He's beautiful. He is funny and intelligent; yet he gets along with almost no one. And even though he is literally chained to the likes of me, he still refuses to conform and he still stays himself.

I said before: I am not a design.

I have never wished to be attached to the people in this world, but I have literally allowed myself to be attached to this new one.

I am not perfection. I am a façade.

Why am I even doing this? Why do I strive for acceptance from those who would never give me a chance or look at me with distaste if I simply did not look the way that I do? Everyone loves "Light" because they do not understand that Light is human, just like them.

But then, I guess I am not just like them. But I do have emotions. I do have feelings.

I can't blame them too much for not realizing this, since I myself did not realize it until recently.

Discovering my true emotions wasn't until after I got involved in the Kira case, after I was chained to the mastermind detective, and after I found myself in love with that detective.

I understand now why they—myself originally included—have shaped me to lack true emotions and to be the shiniest star: it is so that I would be detached and essentially blind to others.

Though the plan succeeded for 19 years, they have just failed. Why?

Because I love.

Because I am human.

So now that I am not perfection, what will they—myself included—do?

They will have to reject their design and discard their plan.

But that brings me to my next question, what will I become? Or will I even know how to become anything else?

Was I designed to lose what I've only just found?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I think he's 19 . . .

Aaaand that's what I've written.

If you like the way this story has gone, feel free to take it by the horns and man handle it into your own. I only ask that you reference me and tell me, so that I can read it too. I might eventually turn this into an actual story, romantic or otherwise, but it's not on the to-do list.

As a side note, it's a beautiful day outside.

~Aia~