Ah, but what intensity love possesses, when met in return with equal strength. I'd almost forgotten.
Or, perhaps, never knew, with what was once the strongest bond in my life taken for granted, something I thought I could count on from cradle to grave.
(Is it wrong of me to be angry, that he continues to assume worse of me than of a stranger? Bah, it feels as though Kurama is the first thing we've agreed upon in ages. I continue to dislike this immensely, even if I suppose it is only natural for there to be more rough patches than not given everything.)
But so there is something solid of that sort now, in this bond marked upon the hand I use to write these very pages, and in some ways it is the most difficult thing, to not allow it to become my new orbit. But I only become better by pushing, straining, against that gravity.
It is unfairly wonderful to hold him in my arms at the end of the day and relax, though. Six take me, but it's near enough to perfect the way we fit. I fall asleep and wake content for the first time since I was a child.
I am... insecure, knowing as I do that all things end. I do not wish to suffer another loss of the things that make me whole and happy.
I can survive it. At this point I feel that I can say that I can survive anything.
But I do not want to lose again.
And I fear that, when the time comes, that will set me at odds with everyone else here, and that I will still wind up alone in the end as they all return whence they came. To the things they have to go back to, of which I have only a long-waiting grave. It is as though everything between then and awakening here was not at all living, and it is only in this form that the clock has begun to count once again.
After so long embraced by Death as my only comfort, it makes me feel foolish to seek now to avoid her arms. And yet, and yet, and yet -
It is good that I've given up praying, good that I've already had more than my share of miracles. Else I would surely beg another.
Do not let these happy times come too quickly to an end.
June 3
Or, perhaps, never knew, with what was once the strongest bond in my life taken for granted, something I thought I could count on from cradle to grave.
(Is it wrong of me to be angry, that he continues to assume worse of me than of a stranger? Bah, it feels as though Kurama is the first thing we've agreed upon in ages. I continue to dislike this immensely, even if I suppose it is only natural for there to be more rough patches than not given everything.)
But so there is something solid of that sort now, in this bond marked upon the hand I use to write these very pages, and in some ways it is the most difficult thing, to not allow it to become my new orbit. But I only become better by pushing, straining, against that gravity.
It is unfairly wonderful to hold him in my arms at the end of the day and relax, though. Six take me, but it's near enough to perfect the way we fit. I fall asleep and wake content for the first time since I was a child.
I am... insecure, knowing as I do that all things end. I do not wish to suffer another loss of the things that make me whole and happy.
I can survive it. At this point I feel that I can say that I can survive anything.
But I do not want to lose again.
And I fear that, when the time comes, that will set me at odds with everyone else here, and that I will still wind up alone in the end as they all return whence they came. To the things they have to go back to, of which I have only a long-waiting grave. It is as though everything between then and awakening here was not at all living, and it is only in this form that the clock has begun to count once again.
After so long embraced by Death as my only comfort, it makes me feel foolish to seek now to avoid her arms. And yet, and yet, and yet -
It is good that I've given up praying, good that I've already had more than my share of miracles. Else I would surely beg another.
Do not let these happy times come too quickly to an end.