A letter from Hanji to Levi | post chapter 132 |
For Levi's month.
And for all of us who've ever lost someone to this world.
.
.
I'll wait for you.
Where the water meets the skies and stars dive into a deep sea of sand.
I'm okay. Here, cold doesn't burn and flowers never dry and I'm not afraid of life's own, fleeting fragility.
Now, my feet are bare and my hands hold nothing but sweet time to spend. Or is it time a mere human construction we've once hoped to tame?
Maybe, here, I just simply measure time in different dreams:
The tiny freckles that rain over your cheeks, like a million galaxies wide dotting over the nightfall. The spoons of sugar you put into your tea. The subtle glitching of your lips, when you can't help but melt into a smile; rare as it is.
I have no rush, although I miss you. Here, where the grass grows evergreen, I've learnt the art of patience.
Or maybe, my heart just froze the day it's been ripped from yours. And time stopped, then, too.
But don't you worry about me, my love. I'm still one in the same; a spirit wild and colorfully reckless, as you've always remembered me to be.
And each sunset when you whisper my name, I'm alive in another breath.
I'm not up or down. No left nor right. Here, the winds lull me with songs from places I've never dared walk, and my hair dances in the lavender breeze: tangled and rebellious and free all over again.
I've heard once, warm things are graced to those who wait. So I spy on you, every now and again, to avoid the kid in me run impatient towards your embrace.
And I play in-disguise, careful not to break the rules. And I send you signals only you and I are able to understand; for words have been forbidden eternal between us.
So I ruffle your curtains and chant with your kettle. I leave footsteps imprinted on the sea-shores, and paint your memory into the clouds that roll.
I let traces of me slide onto the Earth as I sit, ever so relentless. And I wish, with an innocence brighter than sunrise, that you'll be attentive enough to notice. That my slight indiscretions will one day make you happy.
Because I'm not gone, but a flickering presence. I'm not far, but buried very deep inside you: in the kind centres of your chest. In the gentle drumbeat of your pulse. In the corners of the house your love has long before built for me, big or small.
So don't you cry, my oh so brave boy. Don't you allow yourself pray to my taunting ghost.
Don't you know I turn to ash when your nightmares call? How helpless I ache when you say you want to become invisible, like birds migrating off to spring?
I've heard once, reuiniting is softer to those who've guarded with patience. And, as I watch silver threads crown your head of jemstones, my soul is easily sure, now:
Our moment can wait, still. You can arrive late. Get on the very last train, on the very last minute. Hug and hold and squeeze life until it's been down to its weakest, final drop.
And I'll be here. Always. With both arms open and a smile like fireworks.
And you'll fade into me as you race. And I'll braid poppys in between black locks. And we'll be able to speak, for all those other nights war payed for the silence in our souls.
But I have no rush, my golden soldier, although I do miss you. Don't you see? For once, I can forsake my longing, keep it hidden in the back-pocket.
Because every time you laugh, a glimpse of fire ignites my lungs. And i can inhale back to consciousness for a while.
And every time your eyes tell me you're okay, too, my heart can lay in peace: if only a little bit longer.
So take your time, my brightest Levi. Because time does not exist where I am.
And I'm still the same.
And I want you to live long, but not fast.
Don't you recall?
Between you and I, farewells are nothing but vanishing scars; your fist on my chest, our gazes making up promises to the sun.
When we let the words collide, bleeding hopeless from our lips, we can bend the horizon between our fingers. We can be immortal, even if just for a futile, magical moment.
Because, when you look at me, and I answer in ways only you will ever read, we're accomplices to eachother. Forever partners in crime.
And so, I'll wait for you.
Because, if it's up to us, it's never goodbye.
But a "see you later".
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the thing that is so intriguing to me about denji and nayuta's relationship is that, despite everything, makima still lives in her. denji knows that. we know that. nayuta must know that. the person who abused him in so many ways is still there, her dogs, her scent. and yet denji still loves nayuta, because thats what he does, he recycles until things are new—usable—again. he doesn’t blame nayuta because its not her fault, and because denji know how awful it feels to be wrongfully accused, how shitty it is to have the blame shifted to you because it has nowhere else to go. so he eats this feeling—pun intended—and hopes it settles in his stomach, hopes he doesn’t choke on it, hopes he can learn to love again and be loved in return.
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