If only they could forget.
But trying to forget someone dear to you, is like trying to remember someone you haven’t met, and in a word, it was simply impossible. Because really, there is no such thing as forgetting.
Only acceptance.
Something both found, rather hard to do.
And so they rebelled.
They were sick and tired of just gazing at the other from long distances during the day, unable to touch, unable to talk, unable to play like how they did back then when they were very young. They wanted to be free—to be together once more without any limiting barriers.
“Let’s meet at the sakura tree Syaoran…”
And they did meet, at that once place which they could call truly theirs, and ever since that one time, they had repeatedly done so the following nights. They would hide, they would meet in secret, they would run and enjoy each other’s company like they did before.
And they were happy. Satisfied. Contented.
“Syaoran…”
“Yeah?”
“Hold my hand.”
“…Why?”
“I don’t know. We used to do this when we were young right? Just do it.”
A smile. “Alright.”
And as their fingers delicately intertwined, it was only then when they realized that their special friendship had blossomed into another. Something new…something special…something only the two of them understand as they exchanged silent glances. They were two souls engulfed into a single heartbeat, and the heavens could only rejoice at their newfound love as it showered upon them flakes of crystal snow.
It was a wonderful feeling—being with the one you love.
But sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.
For their love was a love shunned by this world—a mistake; a crime. They were lovers, star-crossed, that even fate itself was determined to tear them apart.
And so it happened.
The worst had come.
“This is getting out of hand Nadeshiko…we need to do something…”
“Like what?”
“Leave that to me.”
YOU ARE READING
Ephemeral Paradise
FanfictionA tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme, about two lovers, worlds apart yet heavily intertwined by the strings of love. A deep red in color, as beautiful as that of a rose, yet too, held the same nauseating shade as that of blood. A story of l...
