and maybe paints itself out

Sakura

.

She cries herself to sleep, sometimes, when the pain is too much for her to bear anymore — when she can't stand keeping a straight face. And her china hands are marred by callouses and blood, the kunai scattered around her too small apartment oozing accomplished missions and dipped in unfinished ones — ones where missing nins were left behind.

And she chokes on all of those lost promises of bringing Him back, all of those blinding, fake smiles dropped on her head after running away again — because that was what they were doing, every time they turned their backs and wore out the soles of their shoes returning to the welcoming gates of Konoha. — reassuring nets trying to catch the two of them, falling deep, deep down — except there is always a hole in those well woven devices, and emerald and azure eyes still return home broken.

It's stupid when she does cry herself to sleep, anyway, because when she does get to sleep, devoid of tears, all she sees are sharingans and Uchiha clan symbols — painted out with blood and shattered maybes, and she sees a silhouette of Sasuke, but when her hand touches him, he evaporates into leering faces — she wakes up crying, even when she could've sworn there was nothing left to cry.