From the moment I was born into the world again… I knew… I knew this world would be another one wasted. I had memories of other worlds I had been to before coming to this one, and vaguely to why I had been reborn, and maybe…
The defining moment would be in Hong Kong. I knew this. I needed to be there before I grew too old, before my moment passed by and… she would be… alone…
This girl with the green eyes dances like ribbons and sunrises in my sleeping mind— unusual and colorful and radiant— and I knew it was Hong Kong. My parents liked traveling and it was an adventure to live in a new country for a couple years. They bought me clothes like the natives— slippers, traditional long silk jackets with pants.
Pink sakura trees were sun-drenched with morning in the park outside the school and city... beyond the split between the flowered trees and the park benches, he was there. I did not know who he was. And yet I was sure that I was meant to. He was bent over a sketchpad, staring narrowly at his heavily detailed drawing with his eyebrows puckered together.
And I saw that he was me. And he did not wear silk or slippers with his dark denim jeans and a knitted, burgundy scarf tied to his neck. And he wore a white eye patch over one of his coffee-colored eyes while I still had both of mine exposed. But we were built with the same slender angles, the same youthful faces, brown hair, and troubled frowns.
And he stopped drawing the girl with ribbons in her hair and smiling green eyes, placing down his pencils when his only eye turned on me…expectantly…
"Do you dream of her?" He asked me without standing, his voice like fluid in my ears… like melting water…something bitter and mocking at the end of the question… I saw her dancing in the picture, reaching to grasp my arm with her frail fingers…
"Sometimes I do," I admitted, watching him as he calmly packed away his things.
"And…will you dream of me when I am gone…?"
His eye lit up with confusion and desperation on me. When he ripped off his eye patch, I stepped back surprised at the ferocity of the motion— holding in a husky gasp when he leaned over the back of the steel bench, kissing me, one of his hands digging selfishly into the stretched pins of my shirt, one of his trembling fingers hooked around a blue butterfly pin. His other hand tightened into my short hair as my gasp loosened hot into his mouth. Both his blue and brown eye closed.
His tongue nudged mine, to coax movement, to surrender, to dance like the girl. I answered, nudging back, smiling against the familiar molding of his lips when he sighed with pleasure.
I did know him. He was made of glass and bloodied feathers that had left me without saying goodbye… his fingertips and velvety brown hair smelled and tasted like pencil charcoal and the sakura flowers of the trees… and I knew it was an illusion…and either letting him go now or making him stay regardless would continue this pain in the hollow of my chest…
He was the one to pull away, smiling bitterly. "Find her. She's waiting. Or you will miss your chance." His blue eye glittered lifelessly in its socket.
When I turned back down the road, towards to stairs, the park bench was vacant. But my mouth still tingled, and it still tasted faintly like charcoal.
TRC is not mine. And I am not a nutcase. -sneaky eyes- Okay, yes I am. I came up with an entire speech on the spot to why between Cloney and Syaoran who would top in the ship…and recited it to two different people… eheheh. SYAORAN'S TURN FOR A POV! Caseydraft001... Thank you for being the great source of inspiration for Cloneest to me…and for the randomness of our PMs… you get all the love. Hope you all enjoyed the crack.