Uh .. yeah. I don't know why I'm even putting this up here, because it's worth absolute shit, and .. I'm just a miserable mess of emotions tonight. I'm blaming .. a lot of things, April Sixth's "Foster" among them. Every time I listen to that goddamned song, I see Squall at the orphanage, and it tears my heart to pieces. So .. that's where this came from. And apparently, I'm back to writing drabbles. Fuck. My. Life.
Disclaimer stands. I own not a fucking thing. And I curse too much.
He keeps telling himself this, repeating it within the stillness in the back of his mind like a mantra. A prayer, a plea. I'm fine. I'm fine, by myself. I don't need them. I don't need anyone.
Because it's always been him. He thinks he'll always ever have only himself to rely on, and that fact alone keeps him from reaching out, from taking the outstretched hand that offers the faintest bit of stability.
See, there's this boy who has all the answers, but I say that I don't need them .. 'cause I can find my happiness, close to my heart.
And along the way, in a different world, of a different time, of a different man -- you would come into the better years .. the best years of your life.
Even after he remembered them, remembered the time spent among others like himself, cast aside and forgotten -- it was still just him. He made no ties, no promises. Because who was he to say "I'll be there," when he wasn't even sure if he could take care of himself?
Holding on to all that's mine.
Home just hasn't yet arrived for me.
It's always been him. It will always only ever be him.