loophole

Hashirama, 

You’ve always told me to use my words. It’s hard, I’ll admit it. To write a letter. 

When I wake up, or in the moments just before I fall asleep, I have the perfect words to say. I force myself awake, drag lifeless ink across a sheet of paper, and the thoughts all fall back into a jumble of words. I think of that summer near the river when you made a crown of marigolds and placed it on my head. I told you I lost it years ago, but I have it pressed between the pages of Izuna’s old sketchbook. 

He left it in my room once, and never asked for it back. At first I thought it was a test of some sort — to see if I noticed. After leafing through the sketches, I realised it was a gift. He drew my birds, newly hatched from their eggs in the spring, featherless and trembling but full of life. He drew the sunflowers in our garden, the ones I once jokingly said reminded me of you. They still do, they’re just less needy, much taller and don’t talk my ear off six hours in a day.

I water the sunflowers...twice? thrice? a day. It doesn't rain at all in this place, you'd think they would at least try and add some realistic weather. I don't mind it too much, but the scent of burning wood is constantly on the tip of my mind. I burn candles to try and escape the spiral, but the only ones I have left are the jasmine ones you gave me. If I light them, I'll have to plug my nose or I'll never rid myself of those nights. They feel so long ago and they feel like they were just yesterday. The thought of them makes me want to run away and jump for joy at the exact same time. 

It's like that for a lot of things, nowadays. The marigold crown, the daisy chains, the tulip bouquets. Daises don't grow in this garden, for whatever reason. I don't really know where to buy the seeds, but maybe I'll start looking for some. 

There is a sort of homesickness I’ve come to associate with things that remind me of you. It is as if all the things that were wonderful and bright are now bittersweet. The memories are of times I will never forget, but they always leave a sour tang in my mouth. During moments like those, I remember everything I am scared to forget: kissing you, the taste of hazelnut and strawberries, watching you laugh so violently that you began to cry. The lull of your voice, the touch of your hand…I’m getting overly sentimental here. It’s not very becoming, is it?

Most days I feel lost. I wake up, searching for a sense of purpose. I try to make a change, do something for someone — for myself, even. Inevitably, I find myself trapped in the loop of hesitations. I find myself wondering what I would be doing if you were with me. I always ponder whether there is something I should be solving, a useful thing like an unknown cure or an answer to a question that no one has ever been able to find. Maybe I could ask the question. "What does it feel like to exist without living?" or "Can one continue to breathe without their heart?". 

Falling asleep is the hardest. I lay there for hours, conjuring up these fake scenarios to break my heart all over again. Sometimes they’ll be granted to me in a dream and I’ll bolt up with a gasp, feeling the true ache of being alone. And then I'll sit there for hours, rocking there in my own embrace. I'll cast a thousand wishes in the well, or on some shooting star and I'll avoid the mirrors for days and days because I am often terrified of what I might see.

Tobirama gave me a book about the language of flowers. I haven’t opened it yet, because it feels like a betrayal all over again. He doesn’t blame me because you wanted him not to, but every time we talk I still feel as if our civility is falling apart. I’ll take care of him, until you’re back, but only because you also wanted me to. We are able to co-exist, in some sense. It works on certain days better than others. He loves you very much, but you already knew that. He joins me in the garden on occasion, mainly to stare out at the sky. It's much bluer when you're lying down directly underneath it, and the clouds all seem to melt away. He looks as if he's looking for something important out there, maybe in trees, or maybe in the boundless realms of space.

I have many regrets. I will not allow your brother to become another one of them. Hikaku visits more and more these days, which really is nice. I long to return the favour sometime. He brings things I like - or used to like. Burnt sugar candies, fragrant tea bags, seeds for the garden. I would tell you more about it, but I'd much rather you see it yourself. I think you'd like it, more than anything else in this place. Most the people I talk to tell me I have a green thumb, but clearly they've never heard of dumb luck. 

I don’t know how to end a letter. I don’t want to stop writing. I’m afraid the moment I do, all my worst fears will come true. You know that I love you, but I’ll say it again: I love you, being with you, holding you, kissing you, sharing my life with you. That is something that will never change. 

Often I think the worst is yet to come. Nothing seems to be getting better. It makes me feel like nothing will stay the same, no matter how hard I try. It makes me feel vulnerable, like a dandelion standing tall against the wind. I’m sure if you return, the daffodils will bloom again.

Keep an eye on Izuna for me, will you?

With much love,

M.

p.s: Before I met you, I believed I was cursed to never find love. It was the divine punishment for insulting the spirits and tampering with the laws of our kind. Now I realise, I was never destined to live as an unlovable or be unable to experience love, but rather to have it all given to me within an arm's reach and have it all torn away again. To suffer the worst kind of torment - to leave a heart that had once been full and cared for to be bruised and beaten. It's almost too much to bear. 

I think I will ask Tobirama about it tomorrow. Maybe he'll humour me, but it's more likely that he'll slam the door in my face or call Hikaku to pick me up. They all think I'm wasting away these days, slowly going insane. I do feel insane without you, but perhaps that was the plan all along. 

If it was, it certainly worked. I am still looking for the loophole.