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The TideThe Tide
Salty air clings to me,
Salty water carried by the sea,
Flows against me, hitting my feet,
It ebbs and flows, in the air so sweet,
This was the place where ideas meet,
In the soaked sand,
Footsteps were indented in the land,
There used to be two, but one set is missing,
Eaten by the sea, the waves are hissing,
And memories are fading, of our shy kissing.
I drop to the ground, the water licks my cuts,
I, such a silly, hated klutz.
It's been so long since someone cared,
Since anyone has asked how I fared,
So alone, I cry, scared.
My footsteps in the sand ease away,
Slowly, grain by grain, nothing will stay.
A little crab scuttles along,
Dancing to the seagull song,
And I stay, knowing I'm wrong.
The burning in my calves from salt of the sea,
Has caused welts to form, and my soul to flee,
It consumes my mind, but I push it aside,
I will remain on this beach; a forgotten bride,
I will wait; wait for the tide.
The sun had set, and the moon had rose,
The water on my skin had nearly
SasuSaku Week - JealousyIt was a nice, relaxing day in Konoha, if you didn't mind the heat, Konoha's summer seemed to be a torture for all the people, ninja or villager. Naruto dragged Sasuke to Tsunade to complain about the fact that they couldn't rest because they were on duty, waiting for a mission. Naruto stormed through the door and woke up a drunk Hokage.
"Naruto you baka! You have to knock! You can't just storm into my office!" screamed an angry Tsunade.
"Chill Baa-chan, you can continue sleeping when you allow us to rest, we want to be able to cool off, just waiting for a mission is boring." explained the yellow-haired annoyance. Tsunade sighed.
"And you swear that you will go away and won't disturb me again?" came Tsunade's question, she sounded like she didn't believe that Naruto wouldn't burst into her office like that again.
"Believe it! Come on Sasuke-teme, we gotta rescue Sakura-chan!" and with that, the door closed again and Tsunade's head dropped on her desk.
if you need help making it through the dayremember:
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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