disclaimer: Pokemon isn't mine, neither is Catcher in the Rye
notes: Happy Birthday! Bijouie, I really didn't know what to write for you- and it's been bothering me for a while. But I really wanted to post this on your birthday, so I just wrote words and wondered where it would take me. Hope you love it. :)
another note: I feel so sloppy, since I haven't wrote for a while. :/

between two lungs
it was trapped between two lungs

"I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 10


Volkner isn't in love, until the moment when he realizes he's in love. (And the moment he actually realizes he's in love— it was so terrifying, because he barely knew her. And that sickened him the most. She was just a figure in his life, a shadow too fast to catch, a sigh that just escaped his lips— a sigh that was trapped between his lungs.)

Her name was Cynthia, and there was no reason for Volkner to fall in love with her— and there never was a reason to fall in love with her. (He met her, when he visited Flint at the Sinnoh League. He walked past her, and he felt a spark, that didn't begin love. The spark created a new path, maybe a new inspiration— a new reason to fight, perhaps.) But there really was no reason to fight, because smiles and love were the most painful things to fight for— and Volkner didn't want to bleed for it.

(He thought himself a coward— until the moment when she saw him battle, the moment when she offered him a battle. The moment when he let himself get lost in the heat of the moment. In the end, it didn't matter that he lost the battle. He just lived— but he didn't love.)

He wasn't half in love with her, until he really was half in love with her. And he's not sure when the moment even began. Because the moments began to overlap like history; the times where all beginning and ending to the point where you don't even know where it started or began. Love was like history, it always repeated itself, but the ends and consequences changed in a pattern of love, heartbreak and maybe something in between.

And Volkner has no idea where he is.

But it really didn't matter, because being in love and being half doesn't mean a thing— because both ways, you still are in love.

And Volkner was in love. (He just didn't know it, yet.)


(And Volkner waited for that day, when lightning and thunder will pelt the sky and they could relive the same passion of the battle, in their hearts.)