Hi, me again in a shitty situation. My grandma died, so I went emo again and produced a second chapter.


I'm shivering, shivering hard. It's undeniably cold in here, but that's not why I'm visibly shaking. I don't lose my head like others, nor is my mind blurry. I am ice cold sober, my mind is sharp and my thoughts clear. And I haven't even lost you yet.

I stopped crying a while ago, and I've never sobbed. Nor have I said it out loud, not in denial nor acceptance of the 'situation'. I am frighteningly levelheaded. I analyze my every move, every word I intend to say is thought over a million times. I don't feel the sadness filling me up on the inside, eating me alive like it did before. I feel a suffocating void claiming my insides, one by one numbing all but the air inside me.

I reach for the mirror I keep in my pocket, but the attempt fails as I realize there is nothing I want to see, and sadly nothing I haven't seen before. I stare at it, almost hoping it would show me something against better judgment.

Some people spend their dying moments with the person they love most. I keep questioning myself if you would spend yours with me. I haven't been fair to you. I have lied to you, abandoned you and put you in second place more times than I am willing to remember. I hardly ever apologized, and though I always came back, it was always after I was finished with whatever I deemed more important than you.

You, my so called most precious person, who's hips can barely hold the weight of your body, who's heartbeats are becoming rarer, who is dy-

Muttering sorry doesn't seem right. Talking doesn't seem right, actually. I knew this day would come, but when it arrived, I understand that you were the one person I was not willing to scarify.

I always craved for adventure, even for blood at some point. For something that would rip me out of my normality and make me special, different from the crowd I use to drown in. So that people would talk about me, remember me, know my name. I figured out long ago that it never had to be for good reasons. As long as I would stand out, I was willing to create my own adventure.

You suffered because of that, and though I can see you aren't the only one who did, I now can see that you are the only one I didn't want to suffer, whom I never intended to hurt.

Whom I abandoned in the process. I might have yet to lose you, but you are already haunting me.

These are not messages of great poetry, meant to inspire or to activate. These massages is pain, written down on a paper. In another time of sorrow, I could not help but resort to the virtual pen to desperately fill up that void. In the western world, black symbolizes death. In the east it's white, and I think they are closest to the truth. What else but the emptiness of white could describe grief?

I used Sasuke again, this time the other way around, with Naruto dying. Symbolism, is present again, but that's just because of who I am. Last time I felt like dying, this time, nearly a year later I watch hopelessly while she withers away.

I don't know what hurts more.