things you'll never say

- - - ♥

--x---x---x---x---x--

"Your mind's made up?" you ask, and your face is calm enough, you think, but your voice is trembling and your hands are shaking, and you don't know what to say.

You were always so good with words, why are they failing you now?

Fighting with words was a strong point of yours, before now, now when you need them the most. But you still need to fight, all the same, to keep yourself sane, to stop him from walking away, but your words have left you and now your only weapons are flaming chakrams.

He's walking away again. Are you going to cry?

You can't cry, so you won't. But it feels like you could, like you should.

"He made me feel…like I had a heart…"

Do you still want a heart, then? Do you want this bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach, mean sour taste on your tongue? Rub at it hard, maybe it will go away, maybe.

Demyx is poking you now, poke, poke, (poke rhymes with Coke and you remember how he was addicted), poke, "Hey Axel, you okay, man?", poke, and you summon your chakrams again. They made Roxas go away, maybe it'll happen again.

You dance around the words you really want, or maybe they dance around you, but either way they're always just out of reach and you choose meaningless words instead. "You can't turn on the Organization! You get on their bad side and they'll destroy you!"

You conveniently forget he's a more deadly fighter than any of them, but it doesn't matter anyways because these words are empty, hollow. Meaningless, remember?

Picking the right words to fight with is your thing, your forte. Picking the right words to talk with, apparently, is not.

"No one would miss me," he says, smirking because he's found the right words to say.

And you sort of smile too, a sad, small smile, when you say, "I would," and they aren't the right words because he still walks away, but they're close enough because he hesitates.

--x---x---x---x---x--

xxx ---- fin.

I don't own anything.