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What he'd do was wish, hope, wait. All for a thing that deep within he knew would never come. That he knew was foolish even to entertain the notion of. Though in quiet moments he did wonder, albeit never allowing to linger too long on the thought.
And so time passed. His feelings of this nature only grew, as did what naïve optimism he may have at once harbored, though denied, wane. The desire surmounted whilst outlooks faded. A craving in his heart that many times almost withered to nothing and died, yet ever so, to his detriment, managed to survive.
A wish to be loved, perhaps more importantly — to love. He wished so, so badly to be capable. But he was not, and this he knew and had to remind himself of, again and again. Painfully many times.
It had at some undefined point become a stalwart part of him, as solidly there as the blood flowing in his veins — he ceased really to differentiate between a self before it and after. It was only ever just there; at times just below the surface and others buried deep, but there nonetheless. Only that wasn't quite true, he knew where, broadly, it'd begun. He knew when the roots took to their sprouting, or knew a few possible points in time anyway, but he did not truly know when it all became so.. much. When exactly it enveloped him so wholly, as other darker convictions had once before. Here, it had happened so gradually, so unnoticeably, until all at once he did notice. But by then he'd already become it, this was no start — his fate was sealed, defined.
In secret Gaara of the Sand ached for a love he knew he could never know. It was out of the question, it was disallowed. Permitted to others, but not to him. Its fragile form would surely be crushed in his rough and bloodsoaked hands. Rough not from calluses, as his skin was silk smooth if not a tad cracked from the dry heat — but rough from the hard coat of sand he wore at all times. The sand that reeked of death, of pain and regret. Grind it anew as much as he liked, the scent he knew so well never left. Perhaps it was no longer there really, but he could sense it all the same. These hands could never hold something as gentle as the heart of another without leaving it tarnished, perhaps leaving nothing left at all.
Of course, he knew love now, of different kinds. He’d come to learn, and he really was no longer alone. He knew the love of friendship, the bonds of siblings, camaraderie. He had obtained companionship, grown stronger from it, and tried his best to give it back too. Love — to have people precious to you, that you wish to protect. He’d been without it once, without them once, for too long; but he was not being deprived anymore. He’d built himself back up slowly, learned to love and to look out for others besides himself. And he was thankful, oh how thankful he was. The people around him and their carefully threaded bonds had saved him, from himself and from the world and from the hate that had once threatened to drown him. And yet despite having gratitude in abundance, feeling warmths within he never thought were his to feel, something distant seemed missing. Something difficult to place. Something not exactly deeper, not exactly more — because already what he had in his siblings, his friends, his nation and the people all around him was more than he ever could have hoped for — but something different.
Eventually he began to place it. When other forms of companionship, of caring for another blossomed around him, he began tardily to realize. One of these was the budding thing between his sister, Temari, and that Shikamaru Nara of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Another was Naruto’s marriage; Gaara had not really been to weddings before until then. He had been invited, of course, and as Kazekage he had somewhat observed quite a few in Suna, but to have truly attended a wedding — to be part of one — was a first when Naruto’s came. Gaara had not been sure how to behave, what to bring or what to do — at first he had even been blurry on what a wedding truly was. The emotion was something he’d not been prepared for. Not the emotion of other guests, of the newlyweds, not even his own. But indeed it had filled him with a swelling one, several really, some of gladness, of pride, joy, awe and– again, that peculiar ache. Only now ever stronger than before, ebbing and flowing, something that mixed into his tears of joy turning them just a tad bitter.
It had been a realization for him then, after the wedding, that there were still things he longed for that he lacked. But this was something difficult to face, and oddly painful besides. He thought somehow that he had everything already, yet was now faced with the reality that in the depths of his heart this wasn’t quite true. There was still more to be had in this life than what he thought he knew. But these were things not meant for him, he then at once also knew. He could handle the bonds of friendship, he could care for his people, for his family and his friends. But he could not care for another so closely, in such proximity, with so few barriers to keep between himself and the rest of the world. Between himself and any one person. Realization begat realization and all of a sudden he felt more alone than he had in years. He had been at a distance, ever still, though it wasn’t as far a gap as it had once been. There was a certain privacy he kept, not so much out of a natural need for solitude as out of fear. He feared getting too close, feared anyone else getting too close to him, because it might hurt; or worse. It may rob him of his own existence or kill whoever closes that very gap.
For Gaara, love had been a difficult thing. To earn, to obtain, to be able to give it in the capacity he had. It had, over time, simplified — but not without heartache, not without disappointment or pain. Learning to love anyone outside himself had been a rigorous uphill battle, not one without the occasional slip. But he had made it very far, certainly further than anyone might've expected of him, than he ever expected of himself. It seemed so solid, what he'd made; the hopeful emotion and warm smiles accompanied by no longer fearful gazes upon himself, these earnest glances he had fought to earn. Only now it all threatened to come crashing down. It was as if the earth beneath him wobbled, his stance that had once been so steadfast seemed sure to break. It had been a lie– perhaps really all of it a lie. His security did not run anywhere near as deep as he’d presumed, still more barriers sprang forth, still more ways he could never understand the world — be understood by the people around him.
At first he felt panic, felt failure. After these epiphanies he became briefly withdrawn, before regaining his composure, returning to life as normal, trying not to mind the newly discovered distance between himself and all the rest of the world he’d been too blind to see. His siblings had noticed the change in his demeanor, even somewhat made a connection to the wedding, but they didn’t really dare pry, moreso just did not know how. They felt relieved when Gaara returned to his former self, though there was something ever so slightly amiss. They tried paying it no mind, the same as Gaara did, too. And so there was nothing more to it.
The secret, shameful in its impossibility, rested heavy and constant in his chest and he did not speak of it to anyone. With a dawning knowledge had come one too, that he’d felt these ways for a longer time than his realization accounted for. Grim and melancholy of a recognition as it was, nothing was left but to learn to live with it, same as he’d learned to live with countless many other painful memories and things.
And so, quietly, he wished and he hoped. He longed and he dreamed. He did wait in expectation, but he buried it deep, beneath inner layers of sand– each further bloodsoaked than the last.