HE’S A MONSTER, THAT BOY IS A MONSTER.
four variations on a Thursday sunset
1.
Remember? Remember when we would admit such niceties as “will you be here if I come back tomorrow?” and “I will follow wherever you go”? Sure, those are generic phrases to utter, clichéd and all, but I really liked it when you’d give a soft hint of a smile, turn away, and say, Idiot, wind blowing your hair back in small waves of black. I remember looking at you and thinking, God, I’m so jealous, of everything – the way he looks impeccable, some god of the sea, porcelain skin that will never break and fingers of sterling silver. Then I’d start thinking about loving you, and get scared, because if you are the singular, raging sea, what am I? What am I in relation to you? Am I the moon, tugging at your puppet strings, or am I a boat, adrift in your waters? I was never really sure, you see – your eyes would be as deep as they claim to be, and I’d never try to dive. So instead I settled for a type of gravity – like, if you’d be the sea that always moves, I’d want to be the wind that always moves with you, or something cheesy and crazy like that, because love really is just the gravity between the sun and the stars, but since we can’t be celestial like that, we’ll be brought down to earth and live like humans do.
2.
In the jail cell, you are crowded in a dark corner, concrete flaking into your once beautiful hair. You, with your angry, hooded face that says, I plan to escape from this jail cell one day, and there’s nothing you can do about it – I try not to think about it, because really, I’m not all that scared of you.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say.
You turn away. There’s nothing else much to say.
3.
on Tuesday nights he’d bring some teacake and they have philosophical discussions on right and wrong and their repercussions, but then he exclaims, “it isn’t right for me to be here!” and the conversation would explode into pieces all over again and he’d cry and cry and cry (oh, he cries divinely…)
4.
- and the dreams, oh the dreams. sasuke comes back as a spiteful ghost and murders you, torments you, and when you wake in the morning, you can’t help but hate him.
(the thing about sasuke, though, is that he is so slippery he slips through the fingers of existence, and after he’s gone one starts to wonder, was this phantom ever here? did i just imagine him? how was he just a babbling brook of my imagination? nobody knew, and soon they forgot.
except – except – well, naruto’d always remember, but the memories would be sealed and in the end, they were all just a nightmare.)
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(okay, so it kinda devolved into naruto fanfic at the end, but you must admit the first three were pretty cool without context. :D)
