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this is a love poem - a wandering samurai who has left his homeland
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'you're in love with them,' said thoma at last. i had visited the kamisato's residence out of boredom one evening and fell to the company of their housekeeper. in the midst of the falling horizon, i had somehow spilled out lexemes and morphemes of my mind and being to him to which he listened.
for a moment, i had considered his examination which i took as more of a proposition. the idea of it was whimsical only at a glance but once touched, i could only grimace in return. love was something that fell jagged onto my teeth, something i'd choke on if i'd naïvely try to swallow; i hadn't the room in my stomach for something like love.
'i am not,' i had stated firmly. emerald eyes rose to meet mine before returning back to the slither of a blade — my reply served useless to the ears of the kamisato clan's housekeeper. in the moment which silence followed, the obstinate voice in my head began to torment me. to care for another person was a tedious burden, a tedious burden guaranteed to vanquish any blessing: i had been content with this line of thinking ever since tomo had long left me.
'you love them,' thoma repeated in a statement, drawing me out of my haze. 'i don't,' i responded firmly. 'but i do like them, that is allowed.' thoma took a moment from polishing the sword that was in his hands and gazed up at me with confused emerald eyes.
'allowed?' he asked.
'allowed,' i confirmed.
'do you not allow yourself to love someone?' thoma further investigated. i shrugged, feeling a wave of discomfort shuffle its way under my skin beginning to burn. 'how does anyone even begin to love?' i asked, hoping for there not to be a response but thoma persevered.
'love is a terrifying thing,' said thoma to which i nodded. 'it is unruly and lacks hesitance; it is so terrifying that most are unable to look it in the eye once it comes to find us. that's why many pretend it away, or ignore it, or tell ourselves we're imagining it, because that is the most painful kind of hope there is.'
i opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. thoma noticed this and smiled.
'they're pretty,' he had said.
i nodded in agreement, 'they're so pretty it makes my bones ache.' it wasn't a foreign idea that they were lovely to me, they were like the sun i could never fully look at. i felt breathless in their rays; i never wanted to touch it, but there is always longing—there will always be longing.
'you know,' i had began. 'the other day they smiled at me and i think i stopped breathing. i think they broke me a little'
'did they now?' thoma asked, to which i nodded.
'my chest aches around them. i feel like i'm swallowing dying stars.'
'maybe you should like them less,' the housekeeper suggested.
'that's the sensible thing to do,' i pondered. 'but i can bear it, i think. if it's them, i can bear it.'
'that sounds an awful lot like love.'
'yes, maybe it does,' i hesitantly agreed as if releasing a flock of birds into the wild. 'please don't tell.'
Hoppsan! Denna bild följer inte våra riktliner för innehåll. Försök att ta bort den eller ladda upp en annan bild för att fortsätta.
