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In disgust, I stared at the person I once was, Their naive face bringing me much disdain. It's not fair, I thought with anger in my heart, How they stood there, so blissfully apart. I'd gag at the sight, if I could, As they spoke, with puzzled words and tone. "Who are you?", they had the nerve to ask, Anger boiled inside, oh how I did bask.
My hands on their neck, my grip tight and strong, "I'm not fragile," I cried with all my might. My anger and sorrow filled my being. As I looked at their despair filled face I saw how
Tears streamed from their eyes, a fearful sight, And laughter escaped my lips, cold and biting light.
Why did I feel this way, so much to despise, Was I hurting them, or just myself, all this disguise? Their cries for mercy, my grip began to slow, As the reality of my cruelty took its toll. My own tears welled up, oh the irony so clear, Why did I want to hurt them, why was I filled with such fear? My own pain and suffering now laid bare, I relented, my grip loosened, and released my glare and pushed them to the ground. As I stood over them, looking down at the figure I had hated so much, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust and sadness. Without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving my past self crumpled and alone on the ground.
As I walked away, the shuffle of clothing behind made me look back. They stood there, their hand upon their neck, barely marked by my previous grasp. Understanding reflected in their eyes. What the hell, I thought, my eyebrows furrowing. Did they want more pain? They started to approach me, and I instinctively flinched, taking a step back, my fists clenched tight. With every fiber of my being, I fought the urge to destroy this pathetic creature that resembled me. They looked at me with a softened expression. "I was told that humans resolve conflicts through apologies and promises. So, I'm sorry."
Their quiet voice echoed in my ears, only further feeding my anger and disgust. "I don't need your pity," I snapped, looking away. But they didn't let go of my hand, their grip firm and unyielding. "Let me go, pest," I hissed. Their unwavering gaze fixated on my face, a mixture of bewilderment and frustration filling my mind. "I'm sorry," they repeated once more, their tone sincere and genuine.
As I stood there, my mind swirling with confusion and turmoil, past me began to speak again. "I don't understand why you're so angry with me," they said in a soft, gentle voice. "We're the same person, after all." I flinched at their words, my anger flaring up again. "No, we're not," I spat back. "I'm the person I am today because of all the struggles and pain I've been through. "
"You're just a reflection of me from the past. You haven't lived through the hell I have, you don't know what it's like." Their eyes widened at my vehement words, but they didn't back down. "I may not have lived through the same experiences as you," they said, "but that doesn't mean I can't understand what you're going through." I sneered at their response, not believing a word they said. "How could you possibly understand what I've been through? You have no idea."
Their expression softened, and they took a step forward, closing the gap between us. "You're right," they said slowly. "I don't know everything you've gone through. But I can see the pain and anger in your eyes. I can feel your struggle and your regret." I tensed up as they continued to approach, my hands balling into fists. "Stop getting closer to me," I snarled. "You don't understand anything."
They halted their steps, but didn't back away. Instead, they looked at me with a sense of determination. "I want to understand," they insisted. "I want to know your story, your pain, your regret. And I want to help you. Niwa taught me that." Their words struck a nerve in me, and I felt my anger waver for a moment. "Why?" I asked, my voice gruff and cold. "Why do you care?"
They smiled softly, their eyes never leaving mine. "Because apparently i am you," they whispered. "And because I don't want you to suffer alone." I clenched my teeth, my chest tightening with emotion. How could they say these things so easily, as if they knew me inside and out? "You don't know anything about me," I repeated, my voice faltering slightly.