february • eren yeager

024 | february twenty fourth

i wanna take you somewhere
so you know i care

     I wanted very much not to be where I was. In fact, part of the trouble seemed to be that where I was wasn't anywhere at all. Those towering walls...they were everywhere I looked. Out the window, in the green clearing, under the large tree in Shinganshina— in my home. What was left of it anyway.

I remembered thinking that my life felt empty and unreal, and I was embarrassed about its thinness, the way one would be embarrassed about wearing a stained or threadbare piece of clothing. When we were kids, Armin came up to me with his grandfather's book and showed me all those beautiful pictures of the outside world.

     Fear filled my veins then.

     I felt like I was in danger of vanishing.

At the same time, the feelings I had were so raw and overwhelming that I often wished I could find a way of losing myself altogether— perhaps for a few months, until the intensity diminished. If I could put what I was feeling into words, the words would have been an infant's wail: I don't want to be alone. I want someone to want me. I'm lonely. I'm scared. I needed so desperately to be loved, to be touched, to be held.

     I needed to be free.

     It was the sensation of need that frightened me the most, as if I had just lifted the lid on an unappeasable abyss.

     I didn't know what freedom was back then.

     It was something I had only heard people muttering about as I walked past them with wooden sticks on my back. Mikasa carried most of them; she was always stronger than me.

     I never liked thanking her for helping me. It made me feel weak. You'd always comment about men and their fragile masculinity. You said they were incapable of viewing women as their equals — even superior — because their dicks were microscopic.

     It made me laugh, then.

     You said I wasn't like that.

     But I was. Before everything fell to shit.

     I hated people who were happy and content to live and die within the walls. I suppose that's why I envied the soldiers of the Survey Corps. They went out of their way to defend our country. Now that I reflect back on my childhood, I realise I romanticised the whole idea— heroes. They were heroes in my eyes. And I wanted to be a hero, too.

     Dad said I was free the minute I was born. He always brought it up. That I was free.

     Mom said I was already special because I was born into this world.

     I didn't understand what they meant.

     I still don't.

     But I wanted to try. I wanted to become something. I hated sitting behind the walls. I wanted to know more. About the world I was born into.

     I suppose that's where you and I are very alike. We have a thirst for knowledge.

     If I knew then what I know now, I would've stopped. Actually no. I think I'd still continue forward. This determination that lives within me burns. It churns in my head in an endless loop. Going on and on. Find freedom for yourself, for your friends, for your people. It rings like an old school bell, rusting.

     I want to find freedom.

     I want to find this idea that I've crafted to fit my incessant desire.

     And if I have to use unethical ways to find it, so be it. War is a hellish place. But it is needed. Men, women, children— they're all collateral damage.

     Yet, something inside my chest snaps into two, and I can feel the splinters jabbing my soul. These people are no different from my own. But they're also the very people who have scorned myself and my friends. We are far from devils.

     Do devils enjoy sharing hugs?

     Enjoy sharing laughter?

     Enjoy sharing memories of fond experiences?

     Are we the devils? Just because we have the ability to transform into Titans? Was it not because of one man that we turned out to be like this? A man who saw people as livestock and chose to manipulate the one person who loved him most?

     When I found out the truth about the walls and the people, I stopped eating very much. My hair grew longer— I no longer had the energy to cut my strands. I could barely get up out of bed. It pained me to even move. Breathing was such a strenuous activity— can you believe that? Something that's meant to come naturally to humans—to living organisms—was so tiring for me.

     I'm so tired, my love.

     I want it all to end.

     The air around me is thick; it chokes my burning muscles and it's pulling me down to the earth. I don't want to be grounded. I don't want to be. I don't care how childish it makes me sound. I know we can't fly. I know that humans don't have wings; we're not biologically programmed to do such things.

     But, my love, can we not just escape this torturous life?

     I know that you aren't happy.

     I'm not either.

     Let's run away.

     Will you do that with me?

     For me?

     We can make a new home for ourselves, relish in the peace that comes with nature. We can relax and laze around, bathing under the spring, summer, autumn, winter sun.

My heart is greedy.

I am greedy.

But I'm ready to scrap every plan in my head if you accept my invitation, if you take your hand and place it in mine.

We're all going to die. We are all humans after all. Creatures that age and wither with time, watching the world fall apart and stand back up on shaky feet. Our lives are short. Let's make the most of it, my love.

Please.

Please come with me.