AN- I forgot to say this last time, but all of the poems in this story aren't mine. They're going to be from a ton of different authors, the chapter title will be the title of the poem. Sometimes the poem won't be completely finished (like last chapter).

When Sayu's dad had asked her what she was reading, he hadn't expected his eight year old daughter to show him the collected works of Jorge Luis Borges, all translated into Japanese. He had regarded her with curiosity, perhaps genius was hereditary after all, and asked her which was her favorite.

His daughter had rambled on and on about certain phrases that she'd thought sounded 'cool', and which poem she thought spoke to her the best. Her favorite, apparently, was 'Simplicity'. And he had to agree that it was rather good.

Then he'd inquired about what she would like to read next, and she had replied with "Whatever interests me next".

He couldn't help but take pride in how adventurous his daughter was.

"You can't keep talking back to your teachers like that, it's not respectful."

"But mom, they're trying to stifle my creativity! They don't appreciate my writing!"

"It's not that, honey, it's the… contents of your writing specifically. It's not school appropriate…"

Sayu pouted and crossed her arms, clearly annoyed, "There's nothing wrong with what I write."

"We're not saying there is, just that you have to… censor your work a little."

"What! No way!"

Her mom sent a look towards her dad, desperate for some help. He cleared his throat.

"Sayu, I'll buy you that book you were asking for yesterday if you censor your writing during school."

Sayu looked conflicted for only a moment before she gave in, smile widening as she bounced up and down in her chair, nodding eagerly.

They switched topics quickly, "Light," Sayu's father started, as he turned to his son, who was almost done with his dinner, "how was school today?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Light ignored Sayu's glare (he didn't know why she was so upset anyways).

"Do you think that Sayu likes me?" Light asked his mother one afternoon as he did homework and she washed the dishes.

"Of course she does."

"I don't think she does."

"Now why's that?"

"She doesn't talk to me, and sometimes I catch her glaring."

"She's just distant, you are too. It's just normal."

And with that, it finally clicked.

Sayu glanced up from her book to look at her brother in suspicion, who had been going into her room to do his homework recently (it was like homework was the only thing Light did, he needed something else to do). She didn't know why Light was there, sitting- not even talking.

Her brother could be frustrating to be around, but this was just confusing.

"Ne, Light?"

"Mmm?"

"Why are you here?"

Light looked up from his homework and gave her a small smile, "To spend time with you, of course."

It didn't seem like he was spending time with her, "You're pretty bad at it."

He kept smiling and hummed. He didn't leave. Sayu sighed and returned to her book.

After a few moments of silence, Light asked, "Do you love me, Sayu?"

It was surprising to say the least. What a difficult question… Did she love her brother? Sayu had a feeling that that was a pondering that would last a long time, so she decided to opt for the easy path.

"Of course I do!"

He didn't have an answer to that.

(Later, Sayu came to the conclusion that her feelings towards her brother were very complicated. She could never truly love a zombie, but he was still her brother.

Eventually, she came to accept that Light would never truly love her in the same way that she would- if he ever came to love her at all. She didn't like it, but it couldn't be controlled.)

'It opens, the gate to the garden

with the docility of a page

that frequent devotion questions

and inside, my gaze

has no need to fix on objects

that already exist, exact, in memory.

I know the customs and souls

and that dialect of allusions

that every human gathering goes weaving.

I've no need to speak

nor claim false privilege;

they know me well who surround me here,

know well my afflictions and weakness.

This is to reach the highest thing,

that Heaven perhaps will grant us:

not admiration or victory

but simply to be accepted

as part of an undeniable Reality,

like stones and trees.'