From The Corners Of Their Eyes by Aspen Snow

From The Corners Of Their Eyes

From The Corner Of Their Eyes

He stands at the edges of cliffs, feet brushing loose dirt into the empty space, eyes drifting over rocks and brush and through spiraling mists of gray searching for the bottom the end the rest of what is missing.

He stands and wonders what his life could have been if he had just been different.

.

.

.

.

She stands in front of wells, brown and broken, hands resting on splintered edges, feet firmly planted in grass too green to be real and eyes searching through darkness for faint shimmers of something anything everything.

She stands and wonders what her life should have been if she had just been normal.

.

.

.

.

He walks runs flies through meadows and forests and wars and centuries and time. He's seen so much ─ everything ─ and now he has time to waste throw away forget. He stops every once in awhile in those places that live in the corners of his world, those places faded and aged and blurry.

He starts with the places he wanted to forget like the locked barred darkened room where his mother used to laugh smile love. Because the memory of pain anger hurt is so distant it's hardly a feeling at all until he steps into that room and he chokes on it all.

He stops and wonders when he started needing the pain.

.

.

.

.

She walks crawls slowly through hallways and streets and school and life and time and the future. She's seen so much of the past ─ everything ─ and now she has to make room for what she hasn't had time to see, like everything else. She runs every once in awhile through those things and places that she has already seen.

She starts with the places she can't forget like the old imposing ancient tree that is always right there. Because out of the corner of her eye she still sees a flash of red white gold and she remembers the half tortured man boy who sat there and the grief pain loss is still so raw it burns.

She runs and wonders when she started feeling only the pain.

.

.

.

.

He trails his fingers slowly gently tenderly over things soft and smooth and he hates himself for it. Because no one knows what its like to be the bad man. No one knows what it's like to be hated always fated always to be the enemy. No one knows what its like to secretly want desire covet everything he has told himself he doesn't shouldn't need.

Like he wants freedom because he has always been powerful wealthy demon but he's never been free. He has more ties than a man of his stature should. He's tied to the memory legacy mistakes of his father to his lands that grow expand consume and to his name because he is perfect and he does kill.

His fingers trail over all the things he has never really but really always desired and he wonders if he has always always wanted to be someone anyone else.

.

.

.

.

Her fingers reach grab hold on to things hard and rough and she hates herself for it. Because no one knows what it's like to be the good girl. No one knows what it's like to be expected always fated always to do the right thing. No one knows what it's like to hate loathe fear everything that she is and should be responsible for.

Like she hates his death because she didn't belong there in that time place era but she was there and it was her fault and she thinks she will never forget the blood the tears the end. And she hates the fact that in a real world she would have never been there.

Her fingers grab onto all the things jagged uncomfortable selfish and all those things she never should have lost because she knows she used to be someone else and she is so tired of losing things people everything.

.

.

.

.

Every once in awhile when he takes the time to walk crawl slowly through his time he sees blue eyes black hair and hands fragile weak and so desperate to be strong.

.

.

.

.

Every once in awhile when she runs flies through her time she sees golden eyes raging and quiet and strong and turbulent and she's going so fast too fast that she sometimes forgets the eyes she sees aren't always the same.

.

.

.

.

He thinks he didn't always want her. She was always partly stupid partly courageous partly beautiful partly plain but she was always always human.

.

.

.

.

She thinks she has always wanted him. Because he was the bad man and she was the good girl and he wanted nothing from her nothing but her death. Nobody else wanted that.

.

.

.

.

There were times he tried to kill her times he ignored her times he didn't know her times he didn't care.

And it disturbs him, more than he is willing to admit, that he doesn't know anymore which time he prefers.

.

.

.

.

There were times he tried to kill her times he was the enemy times he had to be feared.

Except she never really wanted to kill him never ignored him never not cared.

And it disturbs her, more than she is willing to admit, that wanting him never really disturbed her at all.

.

.

.

.

He feels too much. Fingers on his skin whispers in the air. Things so soft things so tender things so fragile he never felt them before.

He can't remember the cold metallic weight of a sword in his hand or the white steely hardness of bone or that pulling stretching tension before it breaks. He can't remember the precision of his practiced perfected movements. He can't remember all these things these feelings that are were him.

All there is now is fingers on his skin whispers in the air. Cold fingertips grasping for holding onto his hand and a trembling voice so weak so there so carelessly replacing all those things comfortable and familiar all those things he knows knew.

He wonders when the frail things started haunting him.

.

.

.

.

She feels too much of nothing. Faint echoing traces of things once poignant and so strong.

It used to be who she was. The human girl who tried too much gave too much loved too much lost too much. Everything was just too much it suffocated her burned away everything until she was left with wisps of feeling ghostlike and invisible.

She can't remember the delicious warmth of sunshine and smiles. She can't remember the careless dip into conversation companionship intimacy. She can't remember contact and warmth. She can't remember the touch of anyone.

She can't remember her heart falling her heart breaking.

She knows she wanted to forget.

But she wonders when all the nothing started haunting her.

.

.

.

.

He scoffs sneers at the idea of love partly because it is a habit and mostly because he doesn't understand it and because it takes soft things tender things weak things to feel it.

Except he's started feeling those things its all his fingers can remember now all his eyes seem to want to see so he thinks that maybe ─ maybe ─ he might have loved two humans with hair so black eyes so sad.

He wonders if he has always been searching for something someone anything to love.

.

.

.

.

She was always always in love with the idea of love partly because she was taught to be and mostly because she wanted to be. Moonlight and roses red romance in the air. These were her dreams. They were all soft and silky rose petals and whimsical naive shades of pink and red.

Except they started to slip away when red turned out to be the color of blood and the moonlight only ever showed that she could never ever have him. And she's started feeling all those things hard and sharp like anger hate grief ache that it's all her dreams can remember now so she thinks that maybe ─ maybe ─ she might not have loved one hanyou with hair so white and eyes so sad.

She wonders if she has always been searching for someone anyone who she couldn't love.

.

.

.

.

Her touch was all soft and cold so achingly slow. As if all the feeling had been sucked out of her and her fingers were exploring searching trying so desperately to remember that simmering life that burned beneath the skin.

He wonders why he so badly wants her to find it in him.

.

.

.

.

His touch was all rough and warm and so surprisingly fast. As if he were afraid that too prolonged of contact would reveal something anything about him. His fingers are always rushing always moving as if he were trying to outrun hide from all that warmth and life that is chasing after him.

She wonders when she started wishing she had something anything to run from.

.

.

.

.

When she leaves he wants to almost needs to say he will miss her eyes her face her. Except he knows that it isn't enough.

He wonders when he started needing wanting something more than just the words.

.

.

.

.

When she leaves she wants to almost needs to hug him embrace him hold onto him. Except she knows that he won't understand it.

She wonders when she started needing wanting just the words.

.

.

.

.

From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a lonely sad eyed girl who felt too much loved so much lost it all and he thinks had he been different like her he would have ended up here anyways.

Alone and running from all the things he shouldn't feel.

.

.

.

.

From the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of a hard man with cold eyes so hot who felt too little loved too little lost nothing at all until it all caught up with him made him want to run from it all and she thinks had she been normal like him she would have ended up here anyways.

Alone and running from all the things she used to feel.