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«0521» silhouettes.
JUKEBOX—
- halsey "ghost"
- melanie martinez "soap"
- how to dress well "the ruins"
he is perfection. you’ve drawn this conclusion so many times that it comes naturally by now. even seeing his flaws exposed in the unforgiving light of day. the shadow of madness in his eyes, his fractured sanity has never been so apparent but as you’ve watched him, cloaked in darkness, you wonder when any of it made a difference to you.
maybe you’ve lost your mind, once and for all.
it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve doubted your sanity. talking with an inner image of yourself hardly qualifies as a picture of mental health, but your unconditional love of uchiha sasuke must take the cake. it feels that way, at least, since you’ve stopped crying yourself to sleep at the thought of losing him—and getting him back.
you’ve grown, you like to say.
instead of crying, you started tearing up the fields with your shishou; forcing the feelings out in blood and sweat instead. it’s therapeutic, washing the ground up earth from your hands and pretending that it means you’re clean of him—the poison in your system known as sasuke, and every emotion that you’ve chained to him.
with or without his permission.
it isn’t his fault, you’ve realized. at seven, you decided that boy would be your world, without knowing that it’d fall apart. but, is it anyone’s fault really? who could’ve guessed what would happen that night? when uchiha itachi—little sasuke’s world—began to burn to ash and dust.
you’ve all made what you could of it, this twisted fate.
you’ve grown, kakashi-sensei says—he seems relieved you’ve made it this far, with or without his guidance, and you wonder what he must have expected for you. not much, probably. you’re stronger, naruto says—he sounds reverent, admiring in all the ways you wanted once upon a time. now you’d give anything for him to tell you the truth—
that you’ve broken his heart. that you’re not worth the trouble that he’s gone through for you.
that he’s tired of trying to drink tainted water.
and uchiha sasuke has nothing—really—to say. his response to you is perfection, because it’s exactly what you deserve, for tearing yourself a hole so deep you couldn’t dream of climbing back out.
“i’ll see you when i’m back.”
he sums up his feelings for you in a tap to the forehead—a gesture you barely understand, but one that sets your heart aflutter as if you were twelve, all over again; watching him race away for greater things.
that night, you claw at your wrists; at your chest and your neck, in hopes of drawing your traitorous pulse from beneath your skin; your heart, from its bone-cage.
you haven’t changed at all.
you wonder if he knows it; if he’s aware of his sway over you—and exactly how hard you’ve failed at cleansing yourself of this illness. you conclude that he has an inkling of it. why else would he disappear for years at a time, while keeping you hanging by his little red thread?
because he knew. in your rose-tinted gaze, that damn forehead poke was as good as a proposal.
and you’d already said yes.