#korodi

                                                  ( @korodi / sen & sayo / aug 2014 )

WHO ARE YOU when the dust settles? when debris of a once well put, once hopeful, life settles into its open grave. when tragedy and sorrow comes and goes and leaves you crippled with debilitating guilt and a crushing sort of agony on your chest. who are you then?

in the dark, sen is the grotesque embodiment of wrath; riddled with rot, his dastardly mangled body, once a temple regarded by highest faith now equips busy veins and faint needle scars that mars the innermost of his elbow. a monster in his own right. 

see: the broken remains of his their future, the once-fractured bones of his beloved, the blood that’s on his hands. 

in the light, he is of little difference. armed with a broken hero complex that has him sticking it out—shedding blood and tears—for the now broken foundation of their relationship as a couple. irrevocably, it was his responsibility—sayo, that is, was his responsibility. surely, the ruins of his porcelain doll—from the way her legs shattered, unable to dance ever again—is his responsibility. what is he to do but stay with her now? 

see: his touch gentle smoothing over shaking shoulders, his touch rough digging into a clenched jaw, his touch lingering in his absence.

always, our star-crossed is the first to leave, first to lose control over the fury that sits square in his chest and roars its defiance, its anger, its disbelief at being trapped here — here, sen leaves in the morning for “class” and doubles back hours later, pupils dilated, derisiveness he wears curved on his lips like second skin. 

here, he finds his girlfriend, his “angel” ( oh, but they’ve long discarded belief in holy things ) sprawled on the couch, head lulling near lifelessly and dainty fingers caressing a half empty bottle like its forgotten lover.

see: her, the woman with her fingers around his jagged heart, her, the woman with the means to turn his very life upside down, her, the woman with the means of coping that gnaws at his nerves—if only for the striking similarity to his own.

( and sen stands, so much of an encompassing hypocrite as he is an asshole. )

“so much for work, huh?” his eyes narrow, fingers quivering in its haste to unbutton his coat, heart pounding right up to his ears while the tinny voice in the back of his buzzing mind screams, no, demands for answers. how long has she been doing this?