This took almost no effort to write, but I would still appriecate reviews. So please, REVIEW
I don't want the world to see me, because they have no idea, and they won't understand. But, as I sit here, I realize everything is made to be broken. Everything is meant to be hurt, because that forms who everything and everyone. Its made me who I am.
But in a world where I don't want anyone to see me, how come they do? More specifically, how come she does...
I tried, I really did. I did my best, and I thought that, that was all I could possibly give. I couldn't give her soft glances, and I definitely couldn't give her gentle kisses. No matter how hard I tried, I never could. I hated how she looked at me. She looked at me with love, she looked at me like she actually cared. Like Song did… but Song was different. Song cared too much without even knowing the real me. She didn't understand what she saw.
That also makes me question, why did she even see? If she wouldn't understand why would she see me as I really am? But what if fate turned a blind eye on me, and decided everything I did would be based off of emotions.
But this isn't about Song, this is about Katara. Beautiful, young, courageous Katara. I can't keep glancing over at her in her sleeping bag like this. I can't. It only leads to temptation in telling her. In telling her everything, spilling the very foundation of me into the soft slender fingers that are her messengers for her messages of sympathy and compassion. I'm trying to fight, I really am. I try too hard. But that is what makes me who I am isn't it? It makes me Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, Heir to the throne, and son of Ursa and Ozai.
But when she got up 3 minutes after these thoughts above, and looked at me softly, with caring loving features, I couldn't hold it in anymore. Kissing her was what I have always dreamed of doing. I couldn't believe I did it. When I pulled away, because I could never be as kind and as caring as her expectations, or the avatar, she pulled me back. She pulled me closer. She poured the water of her soul into my rough coarse fingers, the ones of the son of the man who killed everything precious.
I really seemed to think that trying my best was all that I could give her. But it seemed to be that when I didn't try, it was more than enough.