Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto
density
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It's dark out.
The sky has long ago finished its glaring pastel golden yellows and its watercolor purple-pinks. Night has just barely begun and the neon signs of the stores aligned to the side flicker on and buzz like the lights of a cheap motel. The stars twinkle overhead, and you're stretching out, the thin blue shirt as if like a new skin to replace the one recently shed.
Then she comes along, blushing as red as the cherry of her hair, asking if you're okay. I recognize the hauntingly familiar look in your obsidian; you've just realized where you really are in your exiting of your reverie and that you are marred throughout your whole body by red slits on your alabaster, leaves nestled in a variety of places; mostly your untamed, odd hair.
She asks you if you're okay again, willing to ignore the actions of impulsive feelings of love just for you/, and you only grunt. She's a bit peeved, because at heart she's someone who wants to heal.(She loves /you for Godaime's sake!) Your eyes flicker to her in a bit of curiosity as to her unusual silence (it's quite the opposite of unusual, because I, as a spectator, see all. You never see her.) and you notice how genuine she is, but you still reject.
You have not realized enough.
You grunt again, and she frowns. I can tell she's frustrated, even if I can't quite understand her emotion- but her fists are taut as her fingers curl in. She's obvious, too obvious, and for that I am grateful.
She doesn't see a lot of other things though, so now she's a letter different of obvious, she's /oblivious/, as she stares at the navy sandals like they're the most interesting things in the world. Her hair that curls slightly into her face - the shorter, bang like strands - cover her bottle glass green.( I've always thought that description suited her- transparent and breakable glass, but useful and protective, prettier it's it's own way somehow in comparison to a emerald) She's not going to cry, and behind the defense of my paperback novel my eyes crinkle and the corners of my mouth (forever obscured) lift up. I also see the conflicting thunder in the darkness- blueish shadows that are truly dark but still light somewhere, because to create a shadow you need light- and your eyes soften. Maybe, I think, you're learning.
Your hand shoots out and grabs her's roughly- you're awkward and nervous, just like someone your age should be. Her head snaps up, and she seeming to be proposing herself to break the silence- but she relaxes, and she seems to enjoy the silence with a small smile, far truer than her large, cheery ones, surprisingly. You tell her, always the alpha male (with his weaknesses in the form of pretty crying girls, and I wonder how it'll be when you have a daughter under Uchiha.) that she'll go to your house, because you have ample unused medicinal supplies.
At this she practically/ glows/,/ radiates, shimmers/ even; but for your sake (and a bit of hers too, because if you get angry she'll be pushed away) she accepts, taking one of the small, rare offerings thankfully.
Against your pale white, I see the tiniest bit of a flush- whether from training, or anger, or /her/, it's not certain.
With a last grin I bid a farewell as quiet as my hello.
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end
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It's dark out.
The sky has long ago finished its glaring pastel golden yellows and its watercolor purple-pinks. Night has just barely begun and the neon signs of the stores aligned to the side flicker on and buzz like the lights of a cheap motel. The stars twinkle overhead, and you're stretching out, the thin blue shirt as if like a new skin to replace the one recently shed.
Then she comes along, blushing as red as the cherry of her hair, asking if you're okay. I recognize the hauntingly familiar look in your obsidian; you've just realized where you really are in your exiting of your reverie and that you are marred throughout your whole body by red slits on your alabaster, leaves nestled in a variety of places; mostly your untamed, odd hair.
She asks you if you're okay again, willing to ignore the actions of impulsive feelings of love just for you/, and you only grunt. She's a bit peeved, because at heart she's someone who wants to heal.(She loves /you for Godaime's sake!) Your eyes flicker to her in a bit of curiosity as to her unusual silence (it's quite the opposite of unusual, because I, as a spectator, see all. You never see her.) and you notice how genuine she is, but you still reject.
You have not realized enough.
You grunt again, and she frowns. I can tell she's frustrated, even if I can't quite understand her emotion- but her fists are taut as her fingers curl in. She's obvious, too obvious, and for that I am grateful.
She doesn't see a lot of other things though, so now she's a letter different of obvious, she's /oblivious/, as she stares at the navy sandals like they're the most interesting things in the world. Her hair that curls slightly into her face - the shorter, bang like strands - cover her bottle glass green.( I've always thought that description suited her- transparent and breakable glass, but useful and protective, prettier it's it's own way somehow in comparison to a emerald) She's not going to cry, and behind the defense of my paperback novel my eyes crinkle and the corners of my mouth (forever obscured) lift up. I also see the conflicting thunder in the darkness- blueish shadows that are truly dark but still light somewhere, because to create a shadow you need light- and your eyes soften. Maybe, I think, you're learning.
Your hand shoots out and grabs her's roughly- you're awkward and nervous, just like someone your age should be. Her head snaps up, and she seeming to be proposing herself to break the silence- but she relaxes, and she seems to enjoy the silence with a small smile, far truer than her large, cheery ones, surprisingly. You tell her, always the alpha male (with his weaknesses in the form of pretty crying girls, and I wonder how it'll be when you have a daughter under Uchiha.) that she'll go to your house, because you have ample unused medicinal supplies.
At this she practically/ glows/,/ radiates, shimmers/ even; but for your sake (and a bit of hers too, because if you get angry she'll be pushed away) she accepts, taking one of the small, rare offerings thankfully.
Against your pale white, I see the tiniest bit of a flush- whether from training, or anger, or /her/, it's not certain.
With a last grin I bid a farewell as quiet as my hello.
---
end
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