I do not own Naruto


I keep thinking of the way you used to glare when someone said something stupid. The way you'd never laugh at something funny or never cry when everything went terribly wrong. The way you'd make it seem like you felt nothing, when you're fierce ambition always contradicted that. The way you'd make it seem like everything people told you was so utterly useless that you wouldn't even pretend to listen. That you wouldn't even lie and say you may consider them.

The way you tried so hard to catch up to the only person that matters to you now. The way you strive to become everything you hate so much. The way you use your past to destroy your future. I keep thinking of how reckless you've become since last I saw you, walking alone on the stone path out of your city. How once you noticed me you were angry that I'd even try to stop you. Furious that I'd dare to stand in your way to glory. Dare to hinder your fulfillment. How your hate has corrupted you.

I'm reminded of that time when I brought a flower to the hospital. Your face looked strained, even in sleep. For you there must be no escape. I keep thinking of the way your hair felt under my fingers. How your skin was soft and pale. How your touch would always linger. How I held cold hands and felt a fraction of your pain there next to you. And the way you used to smirk, so condescending when you knew that you would win. How everything you did was to prove something, even if it was only to yourself. How you must have longed for friendship, some support, but you would never give in.

The way you used to sigh when someone spoke too much around you. Like we used to at the training grounds, before Kakashi ever came around. The way you sometimes opened your mouth to speak, but then would always close it cause your thoughts were such a secret and sharing just wasn't worth it. How you listened but rarely spoke. So observant you were. How I knew you laughed, deep inside your head, like this whole city was a joke. I keep thinking of me thinking about you when my love was like a sickness, and you couldn't bear to touch it, for fear that you might catch it though, you wouldn't even acknowledge it. When your insults were a blessing and your sharp eyes were a joy to see, staring at me, always angrily.

I keep thinking of those eyes, all the feelings that they hid. A wonderful job you did of using them to glare at us, to show that you don't care for us. That night when you thanked me in the darkness, your eyes showed me more than I ever hoped to see. They weren't completely empty they were holding something there. I won't forget the way the moonlight hit them, they seemed menacing to me.

I keep thinking of the onyx, so deep, so pure so clear. And if I just keep thinking of them, then they'll never disappear. The memory is all that's left of you here.