"I can hardly stand myself

So what am I to you?"

The sea is mostly silent, but I can hear the rasp of the greedy waves against the sand, reaching, grabbing the land in Her grasp, devouring the land with grey and blue and black. The stone I'm sitting on is cold, dull, devoid of any warmth, but I don't mind. The sun is setting, the late afternoon drawing to a close, and the vanishing sun streaks the pitch-black waves with yellow and orange and mellow gold, like a fiery glass smashed to bits, and then pieced together, but not quite. The beach reaches beyond our little house, bordering the sea. The land slowly fades back from stretches of waving, flowing grass of green and tan, to thinned woods, behind me.  

As a habit, I reach in my jacket pocket, and pull out the pack of cards, flicking open the worn package, but not letting any of the precious cards get away. What use, after all, is a pack with one missing? There would always be a hole, a place where it should be but it's not, because it's lodged in a gutter or sprayed with a layer of sand or tossed by the wind, miles away. 

Footsteps, slight and hesitant, break me out of my thoughts, and I turn halfway, something like peace settling, but when I saw the face of Mir, I freeze. Mir. My thoughts snap immediately to him, and I see his jacket, torn and thin, the collar turned up. I see his jeans, ripped fashionably and clinging slightly to his thighs and calves, a reminence of what used to be, who we used to be. I see his hands, slightly red at the fingertips, with one thin hand wrapped around the other's wrist, and I see his feet, one tapping rapidly on the pebbly path. I see his face, and for once, I see Mir. Not Mir, not the new one, but the old one. Mir. His face is hesitant, worried, shy even, but it is not blank, it is not angry or sad or something deeper, darker than I can name. It's just Mir. 

And I feel hope rise up in me, but I push back again, because I've learned that hope is dangerous. I've learned that hope, hope when someone who has been missing for four months is back again is dangerous, because he's not truly back yet and we're just waiting, just waiting.

Just waiting.

Mir shuffles up to me when I make no move to say a word, and he slids up to sit next to me, shy, his presense like this calm, normal. We sit in silence, me because I don't trust myself, not now. Not now after all I've given him is hurt. 

The waves crash, slowly, gently, and the sun sets, swallowed by the unmoving horizon, gone to the other side of the world, lighting up the millions and millions of other people. And those people, with billions of problems that are all so important to them, but I don't know what they are. Because the fact is that there is someone off worse. There is someone that is more talented than you, and there is always someone who has worse life than you, but you don't know it, because you're caught up in what's around you and you. It's the nature of the human race, to feel only what you feel and several people around you, but no more. No more, because if you tried to feel all the pain, all the suffering in the world around you, you would surely crack. You would surely sink.

That's why the pain is distributed, over the billions of people clotting the earth, so that the pain doesn't get too unbearable. So that one person doesn't have to bear the weight of the world alone. 

And then I look at Mir, whose been given more than his fair share of pain, of weight. And before, I hated him for that. I hated the weight that he bore, and the scars he carries with him now, because of it. I hated him, and I knew that was wrong. But I did, because I wanted him to be unscarred and new and the way he used to be. 

But people change. 

People change, and I'm trying to change, and Mir is trying to change, trying to heal. We are trying, and as long as we give it our best, then I believe we can do this.

I believe Mir can do this.

And, without speaking, he reaches out, tentative and afraid, hurt and scarred, and he slips his skinny, pale hand into mine, and although I can feel the scars on his hand and I know there is more, many more, that are invisible to the eye, I think, for a hopeful, blissful second, that some scars can heal.

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Hi!!! So I knowww that this is really short and fluffy, but I promise, there's gonna be lots more angst comin' up.

And also do you guys liek the quotes? Tell meh whatcha think about them, I'd really like to hear like if they give you a clue of the chapter or anything or if there just random words from random songs that you don't care about 

Alsssoooooooo, would you guys mind checking out my new oneshot Myungjong (Infinite)? It's called Paradise and its really short. 

Byee~