Love was never a...priority for me. I knew that I was capable of it, always, but that it would never come. If I have felt love, then I did not know it, or blocked it off for the sake of my sanity; knowing my life was uncertain.
Certainty. I have never had that, concerning my next day, year, meal, generation. I suppose I half scare women when I ask them straight off to bear my child; but I must ask first. They must understand that my first and foremost priority is to kill Naraku; always. To avenge my grandfather, my father, and myself. Love can, and must, wait.
Of course, I love in other senses. I worship Buhhda, I love the moon, stars, plants; what 'family' is left to me; but...
I cannot love a woman; not yet. I wish that I could, sometimes, when someone stops my heart and stirs my soul, but I cannot let myself. I do not worry about rejection; that will come if it must, but I worry that if I fell in love, she might as well. And when I am consumed; what will happen to her? No, if someone is to bear my child, it must be a relationship purely of necessity. A relationship with certain...spoils, granted, but of necessity none-the-less.
My friends believe me to be lust-ridden, lecherous, I have even heard sleazy; which I must say is quite an interesting word. I'm not sure that they understand. Well; perhaps they do, I am as lust filled as any normal man would be, but the situation is different in my eyes. I cannot love; therefore, I must resort to lust. It is my...cushion, against my heart.
Hah. My heart. How I hate it sometimes. Repeatedly of late, I have been playing tug-of-war with myself. It appears that telling myself not to fall in love, and actually committing the act are two entirely different things. Easier said than done, I suppose. And there is no doubt in my heart that I am in love. As I have said, I know what it is. I think of her, and my heart constricts. I touch her, and my very skin sings. I look at her, and I know that I can never tell her.
She has suffered far too much for me to inflict yet another loss on her. If I told her...no, I could never tell her. For my sake, as well as hers, she will never know from my lips, and, if I can manage it, from my eyes. Yes, they do travel over her as if she were a normal woman; admiring her; but damned if I could harm that soul more than it has already been. And she is so strong, so graceful; it is an honor to watch her in battle. She wields Horaikotsu as if it were a long ribbon, and extension of her body, beautiful and deadly. And the fire in her eyes mirrors that of her faithful companion's demon form.
Ah, Kilala, little rascal. I have told you far more than I think is wise; and you listen as if you understand. Sometimes I worry that you do speak, and that you may spill my secrets, my reasons, all to her, when I have worked so hard to keep it hidden. It is ironic that a demon is my poison, and a demon also the very thing that allows me to bleed the poison out. Every story that I tell to you is another burden off of me.
Does she see you the same? Or does she see you as a friend? A shoulder to lean on, when she can not stand up herself? In the past, we have used each other for support, morally and physically, and I suspect that we both keep you in confidence. Perhaps even Kagome and Inuyasha do as well. Who can tell? I think it best that I do not know.
Sometimes it is hard, hard to keep my thoughts away from her, my eyes averted, and my hands off. Well, we can't all be perfect. I think she is confused that I do not pay her the mind that I do other females. But she does not know that I cannot love her, and if I ever asked her again, it would be sincere. If I ask completely strange women, they can bear my children, and not fall in love with me, and I not fall for them: that would be better for all concerned. I do not wish to know that in dying; I am leaving someone behind.
But the thought of leaving without telling her burns me even more; and it is a burn that will not go away.
Sango, Sango, it is a delicate game I play with my own heart. And you are the master; but you do not know it. You cannot know it. I could not live with myself, knowing that I would leave your heart pining; should you fall with me.
But how can I live now, knowing that I love you, and can never tell you?
Sango...
