I'm dreaming; I must be.
She's here with me, eyes sparkling, hair shining.
She's running towards me as if to embrace me. I can't touch her; it's as if I'm not real, not solid. She passes through me, like I don't exist, landing in a crumpled heap on the edge of the balcony. I'm trying to help her, but there is nothing I can do.
It's a never ending nightmare. The last light disappears from her eyes, and she no longer breathes.
There's nothing I can do.
Other times I have dreamt of her, she has been there, holding my hand. She's kissed my lips. This time all that is left of her is a twisted memory of what she was like when she was alive. And there is nothing left but the pain.
It scorches through me, stinging my eyes and eating away at my faith that she still lives somewhere.
No matter how many times I tell myself that she must be fine, I cannot ever truly believe it.
There has never been a place for people like me; my only place was with her, and I willingly gave that up. Sitting here, I can't help wondering how my life might have been had I stayed in Konoha.
The rain is trickling down my cheeks, mixing in with the tears and the blood from the reopened cut on the left side of my forehead.
Every raindrop, to me, represents a memory of her that I will eventually lose. Every second I spent in her company—every time she embraced me, and I didn't show any affection on return.
There are so many, many regrets that I hold in my heart—so many unfinished stories, so many abandoned fantasies. They hold nothing for me now, not a thought, not a feeling, not a word: emptiness. They have neither the capacity to hold anything nor the will.
I'm dreaming again.
She walks across the water; ripples encircle the place where she has set her foot down. Tears flow down her face as she stands, gazing into my eyes. I can't remember when last I saw such beauty infused in something so sad; perhaps it was a dying butterfly.
Her teardrops land in the water below her, turning into blue light each time they hit the surface. They are her memories of me; her memories of me are dying, but at least she doesn't have to suffer like I do. At least she still has a reason to live, a will to live. Maybe, she'll still remember me the moment that I die and the moment she dies.
For now, that is all I could ask for. Just to remember me.
She extends her hand out to me, offering a path out of sadness. At least for a while, I can be free.
This is her world. I can see all the memories of me she still holds dear. The memories are flickering orbs of light; light so pure that I can barely stand to look at them. She holds one out to show to me; it is slightly dimmer when it is in her hand.
It's me. Me when I caught her fall from being almost strangled.
There is a new memory she holds. It is of herself embracing me at the hospital. Looking back into my own eyes, I can see love in them. She never saw that; she never knew. She would never know. She would never know, because I hadn't cared enough to ensure that she felt loved.
A final memory is held out to me; there isn't anything in it. Falling against me, I feel her lips press to mine. The pain is gone; all I feel is how much love I have for her.
Looking down at the memory, I see the events of the few moments passed replaying to me.
The fantasy of a young soul; so innocent. I see now that I shall never understand just how hard it is on her. Not even my own pain could match hers—at least I know that she loved me. At least I have felt love before.
I can see her face; her eyes are aglow. The tears again betray me, slipping down my face. She brushes them away with her fingertip, tears sliding down her own face.
Caressing my cheek, she kisses me once more and then fades back into the memories.