Thursday, September 07, 2006
I wonder what it's like to dream of blood, to taste it on your lips, to see and smell it on every article of food consumed.
I wonder what it's like to feel the sick nausea rising like a gathering wave, boiling out of a traitorous stomach to overflowing. To empty the contents of one's own stomach, even where there was nothing left to empty. The sick, disgusted feeling of filth and dirt staining one's own unworthy self.
I wonder what it's like to see blood and flames rise and waver as a solid illusion amidst clouds of benign steam. To watch the twitching tendrils of ethereal memory claw and wring at one's helplessly scarred, quivering form.
I wonder what it's like to smile when there is nothing left, quavering lips set to illusionary perfection, haunting beauty to blind the unwary eye. To speak softly in tones of silky steel, firm yet reassuring to one's most precious person, a picture of strength where there was nought but a toppling house of cards.
I wonder what it's like to lie on sheets tainted a pure, deceiving white, eyes shut to hide beguiling crimson, the stain of rust and blood mingled, seeking absolution for a horrifying past of sin and lies, even as the pale body lay leeched of the pink of health, suffering its own retribution for unforgivable transgressions. To be in possession of a sharply ruthless mind, excellent in execution, the instrumentalist of countless souls lost, hidden within that mesmerisingly elegant perfection, now laid out in an almost funereal fashion as life itself rejected that delicate beauty.
I wonder, I wonder. I do so wonder what lay behind endless pools of gentle maple, of what lay within the genteel smile that broke a thousand hearts. I wonder about the sheer glory of that flawless perfection within her essence, and I wonder about the warrior's soul that lay in slumber within that deceptively fragile form, ready to be awoken at a moment's notice.
I do so very wonder, who are you, oh beautiful one, temptress and assassin both. That mask of winsome fraility hiding dangerous capability you wear, such a tempting combination. I feel like I have never known you, despite how much I wonder, how much I watch. Indeed, I do wonder if you know that I'm watching...undoubtedly that you will, sly fox that you are.
I wonder if I'll ever know you, Kurenai. Perhaps, one day...?
A tribute to someone I admire deeply. Names are not necessary.
]
I wonder what it's like to feel the sick nausea rising like a gathering wave, boiling out of a traitorous stomach to overflowing. To empty the contents of one's own stomach, even where there was nothing left to empty. The sick, disgusted feeling of filth and dirt staining one's own unworthy self.
I wonder what it's like to see blood and flames rise and waver as a solid illusion amidst clouds of benign steam. To watch the twitching tendrils of ethereal memory claw and wring at one's helplessly scarred, quivering form.
I wonder what it's like to smile when there is nothing left, quavering lips set to illusionary perfection, haunting beauty to blind the unwary eye. To speak softly in tones of silky steel, firm yet reassuring to one's most precious person, a picture of strength where there was nought but a toppling house of cards.
I wonder what it's like to lie on sheets tainted a pure, deceiving white, eyes shut to hide beguiling crimson, the stain of rust and blood mingled, seeking absolution for a horrifying past of sin and lies, even as the pale body lay leeched of the pink of health, suffering its own retribution for unforgivable transgressions. To be in possession of a sharply ruthless mind, excellent in execution, the instrumentalist of countless souls lost, hidden within that mesmerisingly elegant perfection, now laid out in an almost funereal fashion as life itself rejected that delicate beauty.
I wonder, I wonder. I do so wonder what lay behind endless pools of gentle maple, of what lay within the genteel smile that broke a thousand hearts. I wonder about the sheer glory of that flawless perfection within her essence, and I wonder about the warrior's soul that lay in slumber within that deceptively fragile form, ready to be awoken at a moment's notice.
I do so very wonder, who are you, oh beautiful one, temptress and assassin both. That mask of winsome fraility hiding dangerous capability you wear, such a tempting combination. I feel like I have never known you, despite how much I wonder, how much I watch. Indeed, I do wonder if you know that I'm watching...undoubtedly that you will, sly fox that you are.
I wonder if I'll ever know you, Kurenai. Perhaps, one day...?
A tribute to someone I admire deeply. Names are not necessary.
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