Eren Yeager had always been a child. From birth to the day he died. He lived with a selfish, childish dream to find freedom. Yet, freedom was a manifestation of his innate desire to fill the boredom swallowing him whole. It killed him.
But before t...
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You wrapped a bandage around my knee. The birds you had named like your own were close by; one kept plucking at my fingers. It was annoying. I could feel the irritation building up in my bones. Its beak repeatedly came down on my skin, pecking the scarred surface. I told you to tell it to fuck off.
You laughed and pressed the bandage a bit harder on my limbs.
I winced, then.
I thought you were annoyed because of the foul language. You didn't seem like the type of person who enjoyed the company of tainted speech. I remember thinking I would stop if you didn't like the swearing. I would stop if that meant you would remain beside me.
Strangely, you weren't.
You were more concerned about the blood seeping out of my reopened wound. I could see it in your eyes, the way your narrow gaze remained on the crimson drops seeping into the pristine, white fabrics.
I spoke then, if only to keep your mind off those thoughts swimming in your vision.
Sunsets were redder, I told you. Your head perked up at those familiar words. And more intense. You looked at me with bright eyes. Something in me relaxed. It was as if a large breath of air escaped my lungs, and the comforting warmth of oxygen returned.
Dawns were whiter and more auroral, you continued, the words from the book you leant me already memorised in your mind. I think you held galaxies in your skull.
You have burning stars in your eyes, I've noted. If I strained my eye enough, I think I could see them singing. I wonder if flames could sing in the first place. And if they could, what were they singing about?
Perhaps that's why I like to listen.
I sit on this bench, awaiting your arrival and your daily updates. Patience is an old acquaintance of mine. Although slightly foreign, it sits in me like an old man. It greets me like a stranger. But—ever since you came into my life—patience has seemingly become one with me, webbed in my cells.
I'm waiting for the day when I can finally hear those flaring embers. They're overlapped with your humanity. I think you have the potential to be more than that— to be more than a mere human.
I don't believe in the divine.
But I think, as I watch you ramble about the book you gave me, a large smile plastered onto your empyreal face, you would make me a believer. For the sole reason that you simply existed. A god-like source in the world of ordinary, treacherous beings.
