[The back of her hand goes to her mouth, drags along her lips. She examines it, seeing the blood. She feels nothing in particular about it.]
It's nothing.
[She pauses. He didn't answer her question. She wants to know very badly who that man is, but she can't, she won't ask again. Still, she wants to know. There is a fire in her, and she feels like knowing would fuel it, and she wants it to burn, because that hatred feels better than the sick feeling of defeat. She hates that man, despises the son of a bitch, not even knowing him, because how dare he, how dare he pass judgement, what the hell does someone like him - does anyone - know about how awful it is, how terrible it is, to love something that much, and then to -
Either way, she can't ask. She has no idea what to say. She knows how she feels - she looks at the screen, her stare not wavering, and she feels this: I understand how that is, to love something like that. To be unable to lose it and still be the same person.
And also this: How is it you can live? How is it that your heart still beats after losing that? Is it even within the realm of possibility that I could survive such a thing? And if I did, what would I become?
She cannot express either of these things. There aren't any words which are proper for them. So instead, she says this:]
I believe I have some understanding of what you mean when you say your world was one filled with oppression.
[Another pause, long enough to be uncomfortable.]
And I realize what it is you mean when you say you want to remake the world in a different way.
I... [A long, shuddering breath.] Well. You and I are not in the same situation. Not yet.
But as long as I remain here, not with my people, it may...
[She isn't sure what she's trying to communicate. But having seen what she's seen, she feels she can't just remain silent. She tries to think of something else, something that would make a bit of sense, but instead she shakes her head, frustrated, and hits 'submit.']
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timeasmymeasure
Private to Madara
Date: 2009-07-01 04:43 am (UTC)It's nothing.
[She pauses. He didn't answer her question. She wants to know very badly who that man is, but she can't, she won't ask again. Still, she wants to know. There is a fire in her, and she feels like knowing would fuel it, and she wants it to burn, because that hatred feels better than the sick feeling of defeat. She hates that man, despises the son of a bitch, not even knowing him, because how dare he, how dare he pass judgement, what the hell does someone like him - does anyone - know about how awful it is, how terrible it is, to love something that much, and then to -
Either way, she can't ask. She has no idea what to say. She knows how she feels - she looks at the screen, her stare not wavering, and she feels this: I understand how that is, to love something like that. To be unable to lose it and still be the same person.
And also this: How is it you can live? How is it that your heart still beats after losing that? Is it even within the realm of possibility that I could survive such a thing? And if I did, what would I become?
She cannot express either of these things. There aren't any words which are proper for them. So instead, she says this:]
I believe I have some understanding of what you mean when you say your world was one filled with oppression.
[Another pause, long enough to be uncomfortable.]
And I realize what it is you mean when you say you want to remake the world in a different way.
I... [A long, shuddering breath.] Well. You and I are not in the same situation. Not yet.
But as long as I remain here, not with my people, it may...
[She isn't sure what she's trying to communicate. But having seen what she's seen, she feels she can't just remain silent. She tries to think of something else, something that would make a bit of sense, but instead she shakes her head, frustrated, and hits 'submit.']