By: Chi~

Disclaimer: I don't own, especially since I'm in this…bleh mood. O_o;

A/N: Where did this come from? Heh, you're asking me? Lol, probably not, but either way, that doesn't mean that the answer isn't: I DON'T FRIGGIN' KNOW. The latest installment of BS has been post-poned to whenever (this is ridiculous) from now, considering I've been having some health issues, which were ridiculous – as well as a sudden stab of Yu-Gi-Oh! love (started watching the Abridged series again as well as the arc where Yugi's soul is taken – classic wonderland for Puzzleshipping shippers – which I'm not one anymore and never will be…even though I still can't see Yugi with a girl…hmm…) so yeah.

Excuses, excuses, right? I'm really sorry. My love for writing for both Vocaloid and for even regular fiction has been wavering. My psyche hasn't been the best and I've had to drop a few people until I can get things straight. Writing has been pretty much the last thing on my mind…but of course, my ability is still there, as much as anyone else's. Some poems just come out when you least expect it. That would probably explain why this is here, whatever this is.

I can't promise that things will get better. But I will be honest when I say I really hope to finish some fictions that are way over-due. Think you can stay with me until then…?

Read in ½.


You died October 23, 2008. It was midnight. Painless. And you died in the leaves you loved so much because of the pretty colors they changed, and how they would slowly fall off the tree at a spontaneous moment and drift to the ground – gracefully.

From what I've heard, I picture you death as something just as graceful. I can't really help it either. If anything, even though I never knew you at a personal level (like you wanted us to), I knew you would want me to picture the last moments of your life that way. Falling back into the leaves as your already bright blue eyes brighten for the last time – and not out of glee or even anger…but out of death.

I don't picture your blood trickling over an eye after your head turns at an odd angle and your eyes stare off, glazed, in some random direction. In the back of my mind, I can see it. Of course I can. But most of me knows that you would want me to picture you dying with a smile on your face.

So that is the picture in my head when I remember what happened that night repeatedly. You, falling back into the leaves, staring up, with a smile on your face. Not looking dead at all, but looking up to the stars on a beautiful autumn evening, lying back in the leaves.

I didn't show much of what I was thinking when you were alive and pursuing me. You don't know everything and something tells me knew this already, but you probably didn't say anything. You were always so smart.

Regardless of that, I think I know for sure that even though you would want me to see you die with a smile on your face, I like that picture. Not the fact that you'd be dying. But think of it. Can you imagine it? Us, going out one night, dressed in scarves and coats. Us taking a walk down a country road, framed between long strips of leaves the color of yellow, brown, and red. Us…maybe…holding hands. Us turning to each other after laughing softly at a joke one of us would spout out of giddiness and shyness.

Us leaning in until our lips touched.

Us grasping at each other and moving out lips against the other in love and passion, not seeming to ever get close enough or intimate enough with each other.

Us starting to move to the side of the road (me backing you to it, of course).

You chuckling after pulling away for air.

You (you were always so clumsy) tripping over nothing and falling back, taking me with you…

And then the scene plays. You falling back against the leaves, smiling, with eyes so bright they seem to cut into me and I'm falling with you.


It's very stereotypical now, these days. You know?

The whole…you don't realize what you've got…

Until you lose it.

No one really ever thinks they would ever come to that point in their lives, where they think this.

I guess it's just one of those things where you have to live them to understand them, to the fullest.

If you ask me, well…all I have to say is…

Damn it. Just. Damn it.

Damn it all to hell.

Who should I blame? Satan?


The man who saw you walking late at night?

The man who decided to approach you and who you greeted with kindness, like you always seemed to do with such ease? (That always pissed me off deep down. Did you know that?)

The man who seemed to kind?

The man who conversed with you lightly, and even laughed with you at something you said?

The man who took a gun out of his coat and aimed it at you when you were looking off at something he had pointed at?

The man who pressed the gun to your temple and merely pulled the trigger before you could even say something – much less scream?



Hell if I knew.

Either way. No matter what, here's what I think and this will probably piss you off.

Out of all the details anyone could throw out at me, any truths that I know are true, here's what I really think – I'm the blame.

And I will be, for the rest of my life.

Why do people think they can win all the time? Does anyone ever really stop, look at the situation, and start to think, "uhh…maybe I can't, on second thought"?

Really, if you ask me, it's just something that's along the lines of common sense. Fuck those people who say you're chicken for doing it. Or you're pessimistic. Those are all lies most of the time. Really, they are, after you've weighed your potential and ability, applied it to the situation, and realized the inevitable result.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

We're humans. We're fragile. We're unique, but it's not like we can do anything, truly, by ourselves.

To fly the plane, you need the damn plane and yourself. To drive a car you need the damn car and yourself. To ride a bike, you need the bike and yourself.

To make the plane you need metal. To make the car you need metal. To make the bike you need metal.

If God truly exists, then he made us all. Out of thin air. Why do we think that we can do the same most of the time? Why do we think we're not going to die tomorrow? Ten hours from now? An hour? A minute? A second?

Why do we think we can do what we can't? And no, it's not like we can't do anything either.

There's a median. A middle. Everyone has the ability and potential to do it. Everyone doesn't have the ability and potential to do it.

But it's more obvious now.

It's not potential.

It's not ability.

It's faith.

It's mind.

And…it's heart.

All three of those determine within us, in that millisecond plus time we spend to decide or think of something what the truth is.

And I guess the truth is: it's what you want to do that makes you think you can do it.

I remember when we first met. There wasn't a single word between us. In all honesty, though you probably knew, it was pretty boring, watching you look any place but me with rose cheeks and hair pulled back in pony-tails.

You told me you loved me.

I asked who the hell you were.

You told me and then I realized I've been in the same class with you since elementary school.

I told you that you didn't know a single thing about me.

You told me (and this make me still want to both hit you…and hold you…) that if you've been in my class since elementary school, you had a pretty good idea of me.

In the middle of really wanting to hit you (at the time, I hadn't realized the warm feeling I had deep inside me was the need to hold you), I told you that either way, I would never love you back.

You didn't say anything.

I said you were too short. Too flat-chested. Too pale. Too blonde. Too stupid and that you a pathetic excuse of a human for ever letting yourself fall into a one-sided "relationship".

I said that you would grow old alone, with the side work of being a whore to pay your bills and cat food for your ten cats and that you would never amount up to anything.

You didn't say anything at all after that. Not for a long time.

And then you said…

"So if I'd be a whore, doesn't that mean I'm pretty hot? Cat food's pretty expensive you know."

It took until I was seventeen years old to realize I treated the people I cared for, and even loved or came to love, like total shit.

For that, I'm sorry.

It pisses me off to know you're probably nodding right now, with that affectionate look in your eye that I came to realize was your love for me, so understanding…

That I want to hit you and hold you all over again.

The second thing I damn to hell.

Realizing something when it's already too late.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

And damn you for being so persistent.

Damn you for getting yourself close to me.

Damn you for somehow helping me even though you didn't even know you were.

Damn you for loving me.

Damn you for making me fall in love you.

(You had to…

Okay…fine, perhaps that was my fault.

…I still damn you for it.)

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

I fell in love with you the night we were at my idiot best friend's birthday party.

Or…perhaps that was when I realized I was in love you with.

Most likely, and yeah, it's corny, shoot me – whatever – but I probably fell in love you the moment your mouth slightly twitched into a smirk as you said, "So if I'd be a whore, wouldn't that mean I'm pretty hot? Cat food's pretty expensive you know."

Haha, fuck you.

I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you, probably when I was seven and I saw you across the room during activity time and your hair had a single red bow in it and you were so…happy…

You probably never knew that.

You probably never knew I loved you.

You probably did know I loved you.

Who knows. But I guess the main point is - I love you.

I was going to tell you on the 26th. We were going to hang out at the park after school.

I was going to drop being a damn asshole for once, cup your face, and kiss you for all you were worth. I was going to pull you against me and hold you there and then hold you closer – never, ever did it ever seem we were close enough to each other. I was going to let you smother me with that amazing vanilla and citrus perfume you always wore (or was that just you; I should have asked) and love every second of it.

I was ready for it. I wanted it, so bad.

I wanted to see your smile after I would pull back, only for as long as it took to whisper how much I loved you before taking your lips again.

I wanted it.

Damn it. Damn it.


Did you know I was saving up so we could have a fancy first date?

Did you know I was sometimes fantasizing you, under me, panting my name as I made you mine and myself – yours? (Seriously, sometimes you would seem like you knew what I was thinking…)

Did you know I was thinking of marrying you someday?

Having children with you?

Watching them grow up with you?

Being pissed off with you when they were teenagers and absolutely flawed, rebellious, and passionate?

Making love to you when they were asleep, in the dead of the night, when we just wouldn't be able to, because we'd be older and more liable to be sleep deprived?

Watching their graduation with you?

Watching them go off the college?

Growing old…with you?

You were always someone who could tell the truth by just watching. But I doubt you knew any of this.

I doubt you knew, truly, how much I loved you.

And I doubt you knew I knew how much you truly loved me.

And here we are.

Most likely, nothing will change no matter how much I try (either way, it's not like I have Superman powers and can turn the Earth the opposite direction to rewind time…that was symbolism anyways) you were meant to die, 12:00 a.m. on October 25, 2008 by a distraught stranger who shot you in the temple before killing himself.

It would always be this way. You would always fall into the leaves. You would always have a hole in your head. You would always have blood on your face.

You will always fall in love with me.

You will always deal with my bull shit.

You will always love me no matter what.

You will always be there for me.

I will always fall in love with you.

I will always give you bull shit.

I will always love you more and more.

I will always realize what I lost.

I will always realize the truth.

And I will always be too late.


It's a rare word used. It's for emphasis purposes, of course.

Like someone's habit.

And then there's the purpose of repeating laced in with it, too – though vaguely.

It's also a word to use, when you make a promise.

And a sincere statement.


It's a rare word. I hope in the next life, if there is one…maybe I could change things.

I would always fall in love with you.

I would always give you bullshit.

And then, I would always tell you everything.

But, damn it…


I will always be another human who always realizes everything too late.

And for now, I guess…

I'll always be sorry.

Always [awl-weyz]
1. every time; on every occasion; without exception

2. all the time; continuously; uninterruptedly

3. forever: Will you always love me?

4. in any event; at any time; if necessary