Hole
They used to tell me he wasn't good for me.
He wasn't good because I was human and he was an alien; we belonged to different worlds.
Him and his broad, slightly stooped shoulders; bringing in the deep scent of extinguished fire and tobacco everywhere he went; his dark, unruly hair; his shaggy face and the lazy composure. Even his speech was lazy; he had a sort of mumble, a languid kind of talk because he always had something in his mouth; whether it be a piece of long grass or the cigarettes that propelled a string of smoke that trailed him like a ghost. The end of his cigarettes lit up a glowing orange every time he spoke… yet it was his eyes that smoldered me; he burned a hole through my body with his gaze every time he looked at me; or looked through me.
And they said I was beautiful; perfect; prodigy of my time. Kakashi was the man of my generation. They all said we were meant to be, we would be a perfect couple, that we fit together like puzzle pieces. But he and I both knew we were not puzzle pieces.
When I approached him and his cigarette, he laughed at me and told me in a sort of soft, patronizing voice he was not good for me. He said he was a free spirit. We didn't fit together because it was like a proper puzzle piece trying to fit to a ridiculous circle piece; he was the circle and nothing could fit with him. I told him good because I'm a hole; I've become a hole because of you and so we fit. I don't think he understood me back then, but he laughed anyway.