I don't own anything.
To Patrick: O Brother, for what you never saw me for.
Three: Used.
From Tifa.
I never really understood why he came to me in the night. This powerful being, a soul more beautiful than I could ever imagine. This incredible creature, this tempest of life beyond life. He will exist for all eternity—for which I pity him—but he works to redeem himself in the eyes of man.
And he thinks he's a monster. Sometimes he is not as perceptive as I would like.
But I love him.
He won't admit to it. He won't beleive me. He talks about how unworthy he is, how unpure he is... he's so afraid. So very afraid. He's in a tunnel of darkness in which there is no light. A tunnel of fear and hatred.
The worst part is I can't help him. He's trying so hard to heal himself and he won't accept my help.
Vincent... I wish he would let me in. I need to help--it's my purpose. I understand my existence.
He has an eternity to find out his, but he isn't off to a good start. I won't be here forever... and I worry.
He calls me his light. I want him to let me shine. But he shuts me out, struggling more and more as I work harder and harder to blow away his walls.
He is worthy. He deserves this chance. He should have a choice to live a free life. I want to give this to him...
If only he would let me play Jesus. But no.
No forgiveness in his universe. No mercy, no second chances. No healing.
Scars. Blood. Tears. Shattered soul, dispersed variously in the chambers of his mind. And none of it is his fault.
None.
But there's no one left to take the blame. Everything is empty now. Everything.
It's wrong. I need to fill. I desperately want to heal, forgive, be merciful. I want to shoulder his burden. I want...
And he needs.
If only... she had never been. He would be whole.
But would I know him as the person I know today? He'd be with some beautiful wife, enjoying retirement on an ex-Turk's salary.
Wouldn't he?
Or would he have found some way to suffer? Some way to be trapped, some way to be damaged?
I don't mind used goods.
