Child of Their Flesh.
I am the child of their flesh, and of their blood. I am their image. Yet, I look at that man, the man she waits for, all those weeks and months, and see none of myself in him. He is not something I know; I have no way to connect to him, or to understand him. He is a stranger.
And so is she. Because the one thing I do understand about her is that she has given her life to becoming him, to becoming a stranger like he is. Familiar to none but him. I am the child of their flesh, and nothing else.
I stand across from you. A child of no one; grown on the streets and picked by the hands of these strangers. We are so different. It is like looking at my shadow…or that to which I am a shadow.
And I see it. I see what I never see when I look in the mirror, I see that which is supposed to fill my eyes in yours. I see my father. I see my mother. I see their will, and their passion and their strength. I see their love.
And I am jealous of you. You are the one they have raised with their devotion; you are the one that has grown up on his accomplishments, and on her instruction. You are the one whose life was sculpted and guided by them, after you, I was left to use the body they had given me and find some other path, watching them only as strangers with faces like mine.
We clash, just by standing here, even without our swords crashing against each other. Me; the child of their flesh. And you…
…The child of their hearts.