Theme #9, Naruto, This Fragrance, It comes...
The air is not still, nor quiet.
It is as he remembers.
The land of fire, leaves and trees is never silent. For there is life here, he knows. There are people who move and breathe and feel and it shows. It is in the air, in the earth, it the trees that shade it.
He can feel heartbeats. Lives. The things that are lost to him now.
He is not dead, though he might as well be.
---
i.i
---
Into the village from roof the roof he scurries like the hunted animal he is. It has all been rebuilt.
Some as he remembers, others as he imagined.
There are memories in the cobblestones, and feelings in the wood.
And suddenly his concentration has slipped and it’s too late because they’re both already standing there.
Because despite everything they have always felt exactly where to find him, even if they hadn’t known it.
There is a charge to the air, and the gap between them is far too vast and far too deep. It will not be breeched. There will always be that invisible force separating them, pushing each away from the brink, refusing to let them fall to the safety of in-betweens.
----
i.i.i
----
There are flowers nearby, he doesn’t know which, and cannot see them. He distracts himself with thinking of these vaguely generic and useless thoughts, trying to pretend that Naruto. And Sakura. Are not there.
Anything to quell this feeling of needing to purge his stomach and claw his eyes out and actually feel.
Let it not be said that he didn’t try.
They are beside him now and there are no words of comfort, or welcome, or love or devotion. There is no hate or malice, no lies.
There is only the promise of the everlasting friendship that has always been there, extended in their open palms, awaiting the day it would be received.
The smell is in the air again. It is stronger now. It is them.
Somehow arms are encircling him and it is beautiful, it isn’t painful.
It also isn’t real.
-----
V.i
-----
He wakes up to the silence of indoors, inside a cold stone room, so unwelcoming to him, amidst sheets of pure white and darkness surrounding.
The memory of the smell of flowers and taste of lives being lived are still ingrained inside his very soul.
And he knows he must go back.
It is as he remembers.
The land of fire, leaves and trees is never silent. For there is life here, he knows. There are people who move and breathe and feel and it shows. It is in the air, in the earth, it the trees that shade it.
He can feel heartbeats. Lives. The things that are lost to him now.
He is not dead, though he might as well be.
---
i.i
---
Into the village from roof the roof he scurries like the hunted animal he is. It has all been rebuilt.
Some as he remembers, others as he imagined.
There are memories in the cobblestones, and feelings in the wood.
And suddenly his concentration has slipped and it’s too late because they’re both already standing there.
Because despite everything they have always felt exactly where to find him, even if they hadn’t known it.
There is a charge to the air, and the gap between them is far too vast and far too deep. It will not be breeched. There will always be that invisible force separating them, pushing each away from the brink, refusing to let them fall to the safety of in-betweens.
----
i.i.i
----
There are flowers nearby, he doesn’t know which, and cannot see them. He distracts himself with thinking of these vaguely generic and useless thoughts, trying to pretend that Naruto. And Sakura. Are not there.
Anything to quell this feeling of needing to purge his stomach and claw his eyes out and actually feel.
Let it not be said that he didn’t try.
They are beside him now and there are no words of comfort, or welcome, or love or devotion. There is no hate or malice, no lies.
There is only the promise of the everlasting friendship that has always been there, extended in their open palms, awaiting the day it would be received.
The smell is in the air again. It is stronger now. It is them.
Somehow arms are encircling him and it is beautiful, it isn’t painful.
It also isn’t real.
-----
V.i
-----
He wakes up to the silence of indoors, inside a cold stone room, so unwelcoming to him, amidst sheets of pure white and darkness surrounding.
The memory of the smell of flowers and taste of lives being lived are still ingrained inside his very soul.
And he knows he must go back.