"He is not Kenai."
You repeat it every morning like a mantra when you wake up to that strong jaw line and sweetly tanned skin. It is beautiful and fine as stone and heartbreakingly similar. But it is not him. There is no deny that.
You repeat it until you can feel yourself beginning to believe it again. Until your panicky, erratic heart beats calms down and you let out a shuddering breath you werent even aware that you were holding.
It is just like every other morning that you spend this way, waking in the cozy harbor of strong arms, basking in the belief that for a moment- just a moment, it wasnt the musky scent of leather and earth surrounding you. Instead you can fool yourself into believing its the sweet smell of flowers and ripe black berry juices. You hold your breath and you pray it is him instead of the crocodile even though you know that it is selfish and greedy and downright unfair to Denahi.
It is wrong.
You cant stop yourself.
And every time you will force yourself to open your eyes and swallow the thick lump lodging in your throat, pretend there are no tears gathering in the corner of your soft blue eye, eyes that he, that Kenai had loved so often and so well. It is in vein because you always shut them again, wishing to go back into your dream land like a child grasping onto foolish hopes. You wish to go back to simpler times, the best of your life, filled with flashing smiles and bright brown eyes, lips so soft that they haunted dreams and deep dimples that made your heart flutter.
It is not him though.
You must remind yourself of this, no matter how it breaks your heart.
So you open your eyes.
You repeat it as you reach a trembling hand to caress your fingertips across the outline of his face with your quivering touch. Your hand starts along the temple, brushing against hair that is too short to belong before sweeping along the sharp slant of his jawline, jutting down further to catch the curve of his chin. Now you are just below his lips, a darker shade of pink, and moving ever so slightly with the ease of his breathing. This is how you know that you are so close yet so far away. It's as though you can feel Kenai, even though you know in your heart that you will never be so close to him again. He is buried, six feet under a precious branch of your willow tree. It cannot be him because this person is breathing and that shows he is alive, and your little bird has stopped that long ago.
It cannot be him
Because he is dead and you witnessed it, you replay it in your mind every night when you close your eyes to sleep. The very moment haunts your dreams. He fell from grace as a bird who had lost his wings, trapped and fooled before being struck down by his very own brother, someone he trusted above all others. You always remember the shuddering of his last breath, and the one final pained cry of your name that left him, as though you could have stopped Sitka.
As though you could have delayed the inevitable.
After that it is a blur. You remember tears and screaming, soft braids and bright blue flowers.
The birds had been singing your song.
You try not to think of it though because it makes you feel as though your chest is being eaten away by flames and your throat constricts so tightly that you cant breathe and you panic because you know that no matter how much you miss him and no matter how badly you want to hear his voice it is gone forever and you are helpless to the reality of it.
You repeat it even as hot stinging tears are sliding down your cheeks and blurring your vision, even as you reach out with quivering fingertips to trace just under Denahi's peacefully closed eyes. They are a brilliant gold instead of Kenai's warm brown, the only thing that constantly reminds you time and time again of the truth. As much as you hate it, you re grateful for it. If the crocodile had brown eyes too, even if they were a different shade, it would be too much. You would be able to fool yourself into thinking it could be real, believe it is truly Kenai with you, a near exact copy or you could even pretend it is a reincarnation of him but no.
You cannot do that.
You want to, but you thank the heavens that you can't. It is precious that his eyes are a treasured gold, gleaming like the valued minerals that men sometimes fought over. If they were the color of warm honey you wouldnt be able to help yourself, you would lose sight and you wouldnt see Denahi for who he really is anymore, and that thought terrifies you as much as it exhilarates you.
Because then you would see him as a copy, a replacement-A substitute to stand in for Kenai and it would have tortured you to the point of insanity since they are alike but still just not the same. And it would make you suffer to see him all over again when it is not him, to remember everything you have done together(The blackberry groves and the willow trees, hand prints on his bedroom wall and giggling through the forest. Long evenings spent with the sun kissing your skin while Kenai kissed your lips.) and everything you never got to do,(His thirteenth birthday party and his hand made blackberry cake. His freshman day of high school and his complete hatred of what would have been gym class. The first time fully exploring each other. All of your tracks meets where he should have been in the stands. ) everything that makes him your little bird and all that he did for you in such a short amount of time, an entire life of love wrapped into a mere three years.
It should've been longer.
You should have had more time to love him. He is in fact at the core of your very being, the center of your heart. It is because of him that you always air dry your hair, to preserve the natural wispy curls. For him that you still try to smile, showing your teeth as he so often enjoyed. Because of your little bird, you decided to keep living.
Kenai is everything.
So you cannot taint him this way.
And even more so, this is cruel to the man who kisses you like you mean the world to him, to Denahi who accepts and loves despite knowing that you think such things. He understand and he kisses you always, swallowing all of your fears. You can see that it hurts him though, to know that all of your loving adoration and affections are meant for someone else, to know that when you look at him, it is not even him that you see. It is not him you smile for, even though he has proven to you several times over that he is not Kenai. He is too brash and too hardheaded, his heart is not soft as Kenai's was and when he smiles his eyes crinkle in a way his little birds had never.
He never tries to change.
He doesnt attempt to play Kenai.
Even Denahi knows he is not cut out for such a pure role.
He just prays, every night that he kisses you that this time will be different.
It never is.
So you repeat it as you ceaselessly note their differences. How Denahi's laugh is deeper and his shoulders much too broad. The way he moves, with more grace and precision. And his eyes, golden and glinting and deadly, only ever softening on your face.The way his fingers curl around you, not only protective but slightly possessive, as though afraid you will disappear. Kenai never felt such needs. He knew you could never leave him. Everything contrasts with Kenai. His silly deep dimpled grins and the way his voice grew lighter when he laughed. How his eyes were the lightest shade of brown, like the richest honey. You miss him but you know it is best that these differences are real. It would not be fair to either of them if you were completely able to fool yourself. Denahi loves you too deeply and Kenai made you promise that day under the tree....
You said you would never love the crocodile as you had loved the little bird.
This is still true.
You repeat it as light begins to spill through you window to brighten the dark rock of his face. You watch as the colors change, bleeding on the horizon until soft shades of pink and blue had taken over completely. You can hear his breath quicken slightly as he becomes aware of his surroundings, feels your hand still nestled into his hair. Denahi loves your warmth. He has told you this time and time again, and it almost seem like he is going to say it once more when his eyelids finally flutter, but he doesnt. The native stretches as he rouses, blinks tiredly for a moment before his gaze finally falls upon your face. He cracks a smile then, so full of love and numbing bliss; like you are the best thing to ever happen to him. And you were, or at least he often told you so. His smile wilts though as he finally notices the dry tracks that tears have made down your face and it instantly clicks in his mind what has happened, what has been running through your mind as you have been looking at him. Quietly, with a steady hand and a tender touch, his curls his arm under your slender waist. Slowly he pulls you closer to him, and when you are but a breaths away he moves his hand in such a way that it is behind you head now, gently tilting your chin so that he can press kisses to your still wet lashes, a silent promise to stay despite your cruel intentions. To wait and to love, hoping for the day when things will finally be different.
He is not the same.
But sometimes you wish he was.
And for that you hate yourself.
