mildish Sasusaku. Drabble. Walking and talking are far from each other. Sakura knows this, and she just hopes to see that partition of dark blue and black darkness.
Sakura glances at the dark haired boy to her right; his brows are furrowed, he's perpetually disclosed. She wants to ask what's wrong, but she knows it is meaningless. They both know everything is wrong.
She tries to be the pillar that she is.(/--n't/. She inwardly sighs. That she isn't/, and she hopes for once that trying/hoping/loving is enough.) She stands tall, and detaches her mental (/--heart. She pauses. /Heart./) self away from Sasuke.
She realizes that he doesn't need to be deserted (--again; never again) either.
She opens her mouth, then closes it back after a moment. Words are meaningless in any case. She wants to sing in a soft, lingering voice, and rub his back in comforting circles like her mother used to do, but she knows that she can't keep alive what he's--they're, they're supposed to be overlapping in the demented book called life.
She knows what he desires most right now; she knows she can't (won't let her) provide it. (/--yet/, she tells herself, with more resolve than ever.)
So, she thinks for a moment. And she just goes on her way.
She does nothing, nothing but be there, and she's sure that she's done her part when she looks back at him(--his eyes) and sees that (/appreciative;/ she pushes it.)flicker.
She's satisfied for today.