Waiting for
"Hinata!"
She pauses, waiting for the tackle to come, but it never does. He doesn't jump on her anymore. Does he think this one way for them to remember that they are moving forward?
"Sometimes, I miss the past." She says softly, wondering if he can hear her.
"I know." He replies awkwardly. She thinks he understands, but he says, "I heard what happened to your mother. And with your father."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry."
She thinks it funny, how people say they are sorry when someone dies. Why? What could they do? There is no guilt to be placed anywhere in death, she knows that. She knows why death cries, and it is for the living.
"I'm not."
He doesn't say anything, though she wishes him to. He stares at her, and even Akamaru seems afraid to approach. He must sense her mood. In some ways he is smarter than many humans she knows.
"She made her choice."
His mouth forms an 'o' shape, but no sound comes out. He watches her turn and sit with her back to him for a second, before shaking himself. "But, what your father said! He was wrong to say those things! You can't believe them, Hinata!"
"I don't."
He sighs, "You know, I think you know people better than they know themselves. And yourself better than anyone. Because no one knows you, do they? Not really."
She closes her eyes, because she doesn't want to see his face right now. She doesn't want to see anything, but there are images carved into her eyelids she can't ignore. She can't erase. And she can still feel him there, sitting beside her, waiting. Waiting for what?
A reaction. A poem, she thinks, and doesn't know why. A son who will never return. Words that don't mean anything. A death; that is romance. The tears she rid herself of, watering her plants. He is waiting for spring.