Disclaimer: Don't own Naruto. TT.TT

Sasori sometimes tries to remember what it feels like to be touched. What it felt like when his grandmother would stroke his hair when he was young. What if felt like when a friend would hold his hand. The smooth grain of the wood of his puppets. The fluff of the stray kittens he would bring home. The sharp blade of a kunai.

Sasori sometimes tries to remember what it feels like to be touched, but he can never quite do it. It is at times like these when he retreats into Hiroku, where he can stare enviously at the other members without them noticing. The other members who can touch, can feel. They complain of feeling pain, of things being rough. Sasori doesn't care. He would give almost anything to be able to feel the warmth of summer, or the cold of winter, and not just tell seasons by how the wood of his puppets expands or contracts.

Sasori sometimes tries to remember what it feels like to be touched, but he can never quite do it. He stares at his partner, Deidara, and tries to feel something, anything at all. He's never been quite sure why he turns live people into puppets like himself, but sometimes he thinks it's so that he can take the ability to feel away from someone else. He knows, deep down, that they're dead, and they can't feel anyway because he killed them. And he certainly believes that they are art. Even so, he would almost consider the puppets of the Kazekage's brother art because they are eternal and will not vanish like his idiotic partner's clay birds, even if the other puppets are not made from real people.

Sasori sometimes tries to remember what it feels like to be touched, and sometimes, watching the other members, he almost believes that he can.

A/N: First Sasori one-shot. I kind of like the way it turned out...a little. And I'm mad that he died, but I'll get over it. Review, or Sasori'll be mad!

Sasori:...I really don't care.