手塚不二
title: air

There's something that hurts no matter where he looks or seeks. It twists and hurts and makes it hard to breathe, a feeling that's gnawing away on what must have been his heart but now only can be nothing. Or maybe everything, only an illusion of nothing, perhaps a black hole that eats his whole being.

There's something that he sees when he closes his eyes that might be the closest to perfection someone will ever come but he can never reach it, chasing behind, chasing something that is always a step infront of him and an eternity away. It is all a spotless perfection he sees and it's spotless because the bright light that plays in his memories hides all imperfections that he truly should know is there.

Closed eyes, tears that aren't going to fall today burning behind eyelids, the air never enough and he can't take a breath deep enough to fill his lungs. Because it's not his lungs that need the air, it's not him that needs the air, it is an attempt at hiding from everything and blaming it on the most mundane and vital of parts. That is what makes and breaks him in life and he wants to reach out, wants to catch up, but he doesn't have enough air to be able to get there.

So he opens his eyes and the sunlight burns as much as the tears that aren't there and he inhales. Air isn't enough. It doesn't change his memories, doesn't change the past, but in this moment it is all he can do.

(concrit pls.)

Åh, du är så fin du. Vi kan se det som träning för oss båda!