05.09.06

The Death of Mr. Lazarescu

I think sometimes of what he will be like after we are older: whether he will grow fatter and his hair will thin and deep furrows will form into his cheeks where he once smiled and laughed. Or if those creases will fall and form dark shadows, complementing the ones under his brows, if the two will dance a scowling pattern on his face. Perhaps he will grow an emphatically frowning beard, disinterested, disgusted, with blazing eyes behind it. Perhaps years from now they will see his passion shooting from his fingers, dancing in the air, and be afraid to look.
Me, I will grow slick with age. I will grow round and soft, smiling and comfortable like my mother’s people. My cheeks will redden and I will glow, my hair will soften and I will laugh uncontrollably. Or, I will grow dark and though like my father’s, and in the night of my skin, my eyes and teeth will flash bright white. My skin will be like paper, but it will shine. My bones will be strong.
Or not.
Or nothing, neither.
I will be me and he will be he.

shi-ou-sama at 10:37 p.m.

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