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satoru would never admit outright at how much he loves the very truth that she resemble you, in all the way it may exist, in every sense which humans are capable of understanding.
ah, no. that's far away from the truth. too fetched from the reality which crawls behind him, as it slowly merge itself—steadily—into every fiber that runs through his body. it clings to satoru in a manner that has him grasping for air, late at midnight, when silence engulfed the time of day.
he wouldn't dare to let the words slip in-between his lips, in fear it might burn his tongue if he took a step to do the forbidden.
it all lies close to the ground where most people will return to after their death. everything revolves around the very woman whose existence has haunted the man every wake; his past lover.
despite how satoru can feel her whispering in his ears when he sees you, he lets the imaginary words disintegrate into the thin air. because again, satoru found no courage or will in him to acknowledge that you and him may perish once the truth is unveiled.
you, his ever loving fiancee, is truly a carbon copy of his past lover. a woman who, undoubtedly, is the splitting image of the woman he used to call home. the one who should be sitting beside him at this very moment, rather than resting against the earth.
the one whose decomposed existence should never be named or slipped from anyone's parting lips. especially, not around you.
you, with your head leaning on his broad shoulder, have no knowledge of the truth of his past lover and the striking resemblance that you hold dearly. unknowingly.
you, with your fingertips trailing down his palm, doesn't understand that you reminded him—in an unbearable amount—of her, it makes him nauseous.
you, with your heart beating faithfully for him, would never comprehend how your similar scent to hers is tearing away all the truth which his pair of eyes plants behind his eyelids.
you, with your toasted soft smile that exists because of him, will in no way figure out that her photos are tucked in the safest part of his album. dedicated and meant only for her to reside.
you, with your starry gaze staring at him, are in no position to root out at how much your honeyed voice sounds identical to hers, when love was still capable of painting a beautiful expression on her face.
you, with your divine appearance and excruciatingly breathtaking personality, are set to be left in the dark, forevermore, of the unsettling reality that he sees her instead of you when his blue-eyed laid themselves on you.
and maybe, this is how it should be. it's for the better, for your own good intentions, that you're to not dig up the obscure secret he has hidden away in the comfort of his loving being. satoru, truly, rather have you be under the scorching daylight than the haunting night sky.
because how can satoru even begin to explain that her blood is still trickling down his very own hands? how is he supposed to lay it out for you that her life was stolen from her by his own power, ages ago on a mission no one dares to mention?
it's true that everything was an accident, yes. it's already written in her scroll of fate, when her feet was set on this earth. however, how will satoru ever find the courage in him to mutter in your ears, that he's more than terrified he might repeat the same thing, to you?
so, for you, for him; for the two of you that he may call “us”, satoru rather goes down the path in stitching his lips shut and being silent. because if the both of you are going to rot from the glaring truth which will always be buried six-feet-under, let it be the same way silence enveloped her grave.