Yeah. [He looks over towards the balcony.] Probably.
[He's tried something like that before, some time ago. Tried to get rid of everything. Push all his emotions out through whatever means he could find. When the grief was gone, anger quickly took its place, and when he got rid of that, got rid of everything else, the hatred he felt every time he saw even the ghost of his reflection still remained. He never could get rid of that. And the other emotions would return eventually—usually sooner rather than later. Nothing stayed gone forever. He never could stop feeling.
He wishes it were that easy.
That he could bury to forget, shove all the bad memories he has into the deepest recesses of his of his mind like they didn't exist. He had tried that, too, with the pills, tried to suppress every inch of who he was, but he can't forget either.
But he knows she's only trying to help. Helping him in the only way she knows how. He knows that but—
He sighs, brushing away a few strands of red hair as he leans down and kisses her on the forehead.
It's as much of an "I'm sorry," as anything. He's sorry for being difficult. Sorry things have to be complicated with him. But that's how they are, and he doesn't know if or when that's ever going to change. He knows that everyone wants him to move on, and that it's frustrating to see someone like him apparently not listen. Maybe they think it's out of stubbornness, out of an unwillingness to let go, or something else—but in the end it isn't that. It isn't that he's unwilling to let go, it's that he can't, not right now, and that's something people would have a tough time understanding. And that's fine. Shinjiro doesn't want them to. He doesn't want anyone to have to know what it feels like to take someone's life away.]
You know that you never have to stay.
[He'd watch all the animal films in the world if it would make things better. It's not a magical cure. But he supposes he does feel lighter somehow. A little. He guesses that's different. But it might not be because of that. Maybe it's the knowledge that the kid doesn't hate him anymore, that he's been able to get past the one thing that's consumed him for the last two years of his life. And maybe now that Amada has, he won't think about killing himself anymore.
Or maybe it's because he's not alone this time around. He always kept to himself before, and while he'll never see that as a mistake, it's different nonetheless. And something's different from before. All the negative emotions are still there, but this time there's a little bit happiness alongside it, living amongst everything else. It's a tiny thing, sitting defiantly on the other side of the scales like it's not supposed to be there. And, hell, maybe it's not, but it's there anyway. It doesn't weigh much, doesn't make the scales dip one way or another, but its lightness belies how much it's worth. It's like comparing a diamond to a boulder. A diamond might not move the scales—because, in the end, that's something he'll have to do himself—but it doesn't mean it's not worth something.
And maybe one day he'll look over and realize how much.]
no subject
Yeah. [He looks over towards the balcony.] Probably.
[He's tried something like that before, some time ago. Tried to get rid of everything. Push all his emotions out through whatever means he could find. When the grief was gone, anger quickly took its place, and when he got rid of that, got rid of everything else, the hatred he felt every time he saw even the ghost of his reflection still remained. He never could get rid of that. And the other emotions would return eventually—usually sooner rather than later. Nothing stayed gone forever. He never could stop feeling.
He wishes it were that easy.
That he could bury to forget, shove all the bad memories he has into the deepest recesses of his of his mind like they didn't exist. He had tried that, too, with the pills, tried to suppress every inch of who he was, but he can't forget either.
But he knows she's only trying to help. Helping him in the only way she knows how. He knows that but—
He sighs, brushing away a few strands of red hair as he leans down and kisses her on the forehead.
It's as much of an "I'm sorry," as anything. He's sorry for being difficult. Sorry things have to be complicated with him. But that's how they are, and he doesn't know if or when that's ever going to change. He knows that everyone wants him to move on, and that it's frustrating to see someone like him apparently not listen. Maybe they think it's out of stubbornness, out of an unwillingness to let go, or something else—but in the end it isn't that. It isn't that he's unwilling to let go, it's that he can't, not right now, and that's something people would have a tough time understanding. And that's fine. Shinjiro doesn't want them to. He doesn't want anyone to have to know what it feels like to take someone's life away.]
You know that you never have to stay.
[He'd watch all the animal films in the world if it would make things better. It's not a magical cure. But he supposes he does feel lighter somehow. A little. He guesses that's different. But it might not be because of that. Maybe it's the knowledge that the kid doesn't hate him anymore, that he's been able to get past the one thing that's consumed him for the last two years of his life. And maybe now that Amada has, he won't think about killing himself anymore.
Or maybe it's because he's not alone this time around. He always kept to himself before, and while he'll never see that as a mistake, it's different nonetheless. And something's different from before. All the negative emotions are still there, but this time there's a little bit happiness alongside it, living amongst everything else. It's a tiny thing, sitting defiantly on the other side of the scales like it's not supposed to be there. And, hell, maybe it's not, but it's there anyway. It doesn't weigh much, doesn't make the scales dip one way or another, but its lightness belies how much it's worth. It's like comparing a diamond to a boulder. A diamond might not move the scales—because, in the end, that's something he'll have to do himself—but it doesn't mean it's not worth something.
And maybe one day he'll look over and realize how much.]