Sober
I'm safe up high, no one can touch me
but how do I feel this good sober?
Coming down coming down coming down
I'm looking for myself....
Sober. The hardest thing about being Sober is the pain. Ugh.....
I know that I want to be the hero. But the alcohol is way more appealing. Ow.
The alcohol produces numbness.
The alcohol takes me to places that are safe and hollow.
These places are outside of myself.....ugh....
These places are outside of my reach. That is mainly why they are safe. In the back of my mind ow I know the things I do are wrong. In my body there is only the thirst. Ow.
They say the flesh is weak. But I wouldn't know.
Unless you are considering the flesh of a man. And the flesh of a woman. And how they cleave together..... And how they seem to.....fit perfectly.
Don't think that I am ridiculous or disgusting because It is all I think about. Because It is all I seem to think about. Besides other things like fighting. Besides other things like being a shinobi.
These are simple human needs. The....ow simple human needs we thought that we flushed out with Evolution. The primal desires for violence and sex. Well, as far as I have researched myself I am only good at two things in this world. Being a shinobi and making love.
But it is funny that we should refer to it as that. Ugh...
Making love. When really sex usually has nothing to do with that. With love. Sex is just thrusting and kissing and organs and body heat. And saying words you won't mean later. And someone once said to me that "love comes from someplace warm and distant amidst the glaciers of your body", but I don't know. That has always sounded a little poetic to me. And nothing is as beautiful in real life.
Her face however strikes...ow...me as a very illustrious poem. Whenever I see it, her face is...she is beautiful. Her eyes. Her lips. Her skin. When I am telling her something I want to be holding her in my arms. I want her to be naked. But it is not because I want what she has. It is not because I want to take her. It's because I want to give her something. I don't know what it is. But I feel like I want to give her something.
I had to pull back. Ugh....
To separate myself. If I am getting in too deep, it can only end badly. If I am feeling like I will die now without her already, then there is a definite need for time apart.
Could it be love?
I almost want to say it. When I am inside of her sometimes. Not when I am joining with her body. But when I am connecting with her mind. When she's talking to me and laughing. When our thoughts are on the same channel. When she's smiling and her smile opens her up like a book so I get inside and our souls reach out and touch fingertips.
Then.
Then I want to say it to her. But I never do. If I ever did say it, I'd want it to be when I am holding her hand. I'd whisper it directly in her ear. I'd mean it. Wouldn't I?
Wouldn't I? Ow.....
Anko.
It's different with Anko. It's like we touch and I feel nothing, now. We talk and get nothing said, now. We stare into each other's eyes and it's like looking into something empty, now. Now, now. It couldn't have always been like this. It couldn't have been.....ugh.....
But Anko is always there. Here. Here she is now. I toss and turn in bed. With this....ow...hangover. The sun comes up and I have this hangover.
Sunlight is not nice to my hang over.....ugh......
My arms and legs are bare. Are sticky with sweat. I pull the covers up over my ugh head. Hide in the cool dark. My head pulsates. Somebody unscrew it and take it off of me, please. And there is Anko. Sitting in that chair at the foot of my bed.
Her feet are propped up. She is reading. She is ow leaning forward. Her skin looks like white diamonds. It's the sun. She's resting her chin on her hand. In her face I see plains and continents. Islands and grooves. I see them all. Because a woman is her own universe someone said to me before they died. Before...ouch...
Someone is always saying something.
Anko is saying something to herself. Humming. Humming in that low voice she uses when she is alone and keeping herself company. Except I am right here. I am always right here.
I turn over so that she doesn't have to see me if she is so determined not to. So that I don't have to feel guilty watching her read words she wishes that she could keep. Words about 45 ryu eye creamers in silver bullet capsules boasting of crushed ruby and mother of pearl. And 5 ryu fish sales at some sea store in Tanzaku Town.
Watching her where she taps her nails against the words there. And hums the words that she wishes I would say. If I knew how. She hums. And I turn over completely on my stomach. Take the words in my mouth and hum them back. Through my face and into the pillow. My breath stings my face. My breath smells like Kurenai. Anko flips a page. Hums.
I wish she was Kurenai. Ouch.
"Kakashi, I know you're awake." she says. I turn over. She is staring at me. No loner thumbing the words. Her mouth hangs open. Her jaw is set. There are creases near her island eyes. The premature lines she tried to dot up once with 45 ryu eye creamer boasting of crushed ruby and mother of pearl. Only I stopped her. Because I like the mischievous way her eyes look when they crinkle up at the corners. When they crinkle up like loved in bedsheets. Her eyes were the part of her that I loved first. And there's that word again. Love.
Ugh..... "Kakashi. I know you're awake. I see you staring right at me." says Anko. "Then why were you humming?" I ask. She cocks her head. She looks very sad. Her eyes don't crinkle. Her hands bunch the read pages into paper fists. She will peel the words off. And throw them at me. If she gets mad enough.
She will tell me about gorgeous men. With unlined, unworked faces. Scarless faces. And places with palisades and world peace picket signs. Coats made of mink and little boys with smiling faces like their fathers. Who do not drink sake all day. She will tell me all of the things I haven't been able to give her.
"I'm sorry." I breathe. "For what?"
I don't know what I am sorry for. For the humming. For not being able to stop the humming. For the words. Or the scars. Or the empty places in our home reserved for little boys and mink coats and peace signs. All things never to come. Or for the sake. Ow. Ow. Ouch.....my head hurts really bad. It's squeezing the life out of me.
"Kakashi, you don't look so good darling." she says a little sadly. "Let me go down to Tanzaku town and get some of those lemons you like." she says. But I do not like lemons. She likes lemons. I don't. Lemons are my very least favorite thing in this ow oh man. My. Head. Hurts.
"Okay, honey?" she asks
"Okay."
She's close enough to pat my feet. She pats my feet with those sturdy fingers. Carpenter's hands. Fighting hands. They were the second part. Her hands were the second thing about her that I came to love. Or like. Whatever. Ouch. Her hands are strong and small and thick. Unlike the rest of her. Unlike the rest of her body. She is a born beanpole.
She stands. Her eyes are still humming. Her mouth is silent, however. The papers she was reading are flat now in the chair. The page showcases a display of 15 ryu onesies. In pink if it's a girl pink, and blue if it's a boy blue. And patterns. Anko turns.
And it must be the light.
It must be this monster headache. It must be the light because....
"Anko!" I call panicked. Makes my head panicked. Ow. I wince. She turns around and no.
Not there.
Okay......My imagination. "Yes, Kakashi."
"Nothing."
"As usual."
When she turns to leave I hear the sound again. Low and ominous. In the back of her throat. Tuneless. The sun is ow not being ouch good to my ugh...hangover. I lie back. Ow ow ow ouch. Love. Headache. I need a glass of sake.
And the newest installment in our little KakaKure adventure. This chapter just happens to be coupled with the next one. So go on over......and please Review as usual. ^.^
