ME: Oh, the drama. How I loves it so.
DISCLAIMER: IF I OWNED IT, I'D OWN YOU TOO. SO BE THANKFUL .
ME A strange piece this one...
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Sometimes, all he does is sit and think.
After all, when all is said and done he likes the sanctuary of his own mind. The last place shielded from the gaze of Heaven. Where he doesn't have to feel the judging eyes of all those he killed, back in the day. Like he doesn't judge himself enough.
Like he's not already killing himself…slowly.
After all, he spends all his time relearning the art of living, and all the time throwing it away again. Because it's never enough. And…because someday it won't always hurt. Not like today, or yesterday. Or ten years ago.
He forgets what she looked like sometimes.
Sometimes he stares out into nothingness, clawing through his memory for a face. But it's all gotten blurry. There's nothing there to put alongside the name; to say, "She existed."
Somebody once told him that history forgets the human beings. And they were so right it's almost funny…in that sick, cold way that makes his stomach twist. Because in the end, she was so human it killed her. Erased her, leaving a blank page on the history books.
Right after to the chapter about Hitokiri Battousai: God-like assassin.
It takes a lot to live forever, and yet, it feels sometimes like he's just learning how to get through each day. He can't remember how he did it before.
Can't remember…
And yet, sometimes things seem like they're getting easier. When he allows it anyway, and accepts the truth and stops begging, gasping for his memories. The present is good after all. Everything's good. He's in love again, and this time it makes his head spin and his heart pound. There's no need for pain, regret. He tries so hard to make it enough.
Cautiously, he's starting to feel like a human being again. Almost. Like a historian took a white paint brush to his chapter and destroyed it. Covered up the words and maybe even wrote something else. Slowly.
After all, someday it won't always hurt. But that's not today, and it certainly wasn't yesterday. Someday he'll give himself totally to relearning the art.
Someday he'll remember her face, and think of her without that twisted, guilty feeling because he doesn't miss her anymore. Just that he's glad, maybe, that they've both gotten a second chance.
Because when all is said and done, it feels sometimes now like he's judged himself enough. His eyes turning Heavenward, he feels a little like believing in redemption all of a sudden.
And stares off into nothingness for a little bit longer.
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ME: Good, bad? Should the authoress be shot at gunpoint at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning? Reviews are helpful in coming to a decision.