Summary: Regret is a sorrowful thing to keep, and courage, so much more harder to grasp.
It was in winter he first noticed. Winter when snowflakes twirled endlessly down onto the frozen ground, sometimes straying absentmindedly to stick to the glass pane of his windows. Winter when he looked at her long and hard for the first time since they were young.
Her eyes gave away everything; even when she smiled, she cried. He could see it, if no one else, he could. With one good eye he could.
It was in autumn he first heard. Autumn when the colored leaves spun gently, once again discarded. Autumn when the sounds of her wails carried on the harsh wind met his ears.
Sometimes he wanted to quiet those cries, to make her forget. But how far does medicine go? The question hangs like a lead weight, weary on his doctor coat clad shoulders.
It was in summer when he first felt. Summer when the skies were azure and the sun beat down heavily, only to be cooled by midnight rain. Summer when he felt the tears dropped by chocolate pools.
Sometimes he wanted to shake the cause of her sorrow, yell and scream that love shouldn't be wasted on the foolish, youth not on the young. 27, though, was not old, hardly.
In spring he whispers her name. Spring when the flowers bloom and the birds sing sweetly, the scent of sakura weaving into the air. Spring when a kite carries his prayer to kami-sama, "Kagura…"
Regret is a sorrowful thing to keep and courage so much more harder to grasp. When the spring breezes waft by, he wishes that somehow she too could be spared from the frost of love.
It was in spring again when they both melted.