which you can honestly brag about having come up with on spot- and
five bloody near death experiences to realize you love him. That you need
him like you need the sun in the mornings or the moon at night. He has
become a pivotal part of your existence, without him you are nothing.
You need him to live.
And perhaps its because you love him, perhaps its because you need
him, that you know you can never be his moon or sun. You can never be
what makes him live.
Maybe it was when he risked his life for you that first time, when you
saw him lying in a pool of his own blood for you. Maybe it was when
you saw the life slowly drain from his eyes and a death beyond you
awaited him with open arms.
Death because of you.
Maybe it was then that you knew. Maybe it was then that you saw. Maybe
it was then that you understood.
To love you would be to die.
Does he love you, does he need you? You pray not. It's not that you
hate him when you push him away, it's not that you can't stand him
when you yell at him and tell him to leave you alone. That his very presence
infuriates you, that you'd rather he'd have not saved you at all.
No.
Because it's when you see past that mask of anger, that scowl he once
again carves into his face and you see the hurt. The betrayal that
he feels makes your heart crumble in your chest. Because its when you feel
your limbs twitching to wrap around him, to tell him the truth, to
tell him everything. And yet you keep them still because it would only
hurt him worse that you know you truly love him.
And for that you must hurt him.
When he replies its worse than if he had screamed. You'd rather
he had screamed, you'd rather he had cursed and yelled at you
and destroyed things. But its not so.
Its worse. He goes silent. He hides within himself, and that scowl he wore when you first met returns.
There are no apologies. There is no crying. There is nothing. You turn
your back to him and leave. When you see him again he is back to his
old self, he is behind the mask. His friends ask him what's wrong and
he brushes them off as he once had. He shuns others and lives alone
again. He was betrayed, and though he'd never admit it he's afraid. He's
afraid of trusting someone like he did you, and being hurt by them
like you hurt him. And much like him, you return to your old ways.
That invisible pounding in your chest once again ceases, and you live
no longer.
Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. The war wages on and you know
you did the right thing. He's no longer fighting for you, no longer
afraid of what happens to you, and he is safe. He hurts, but he lives.
In a way you envy him. But you are not human, you are not alive. You
exist only to serve others and to live in shadows. You have no needs
and no wants, anything else is an illusion.
Life returns to normal, even though he's at arms length. You ignore
him, you attack your battles with furious intensity, no longer held
back by the fear of your own death you fight with renewed passion. And
thats all that matters. You bleed, but existence moves on. After all,
the dead aren't meant to live.