For Sentiment's Sake
a/n: My Bleach muse is back! ... I think. Anyway, I've been listening to angsty music all weekend and this just came to me suddenly at eleven last night. It's pretty vague, I think. But I hope you'll enjoy regardless. It's not really like my normal writing, I do have to say.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, and never will.
It's that time of year again. Once again, he takes the captain's robe off, removes the kenseikan from his hair, and sits down in front of her picture, his only thoughts about her and the plum blossoms floating around on the breeze outside.
It's that time of year again. The time when he allows himself to think about how much he misses her. He thinks about her everyday, but usually, he thinks about the happy memories that he has with her. Today, he thinks about that smile she had when she left, those cold, fragile fingers that had tightened around his hand with her last breath, that one last, loving sigh. The violet eyes that closed. The pale, icy skin that saw death but remained the same.
It's that time of year again. The time when he thinks about the two promises he had made. And how he had managed to spectacularly mess both of them up. He is certain that if he had buried his parents instead of cremating them, they would be rolling in their graves. She wouldn't be, of course – she would understand, but still, he didn't like going back on his promises.
It's that time of year again. The time when he thinks back to the time when the promise he made to his love had been saved by a teenage, human brat. Well, said human brat died a long ago, only to appear back in Seireitei, complete with that giant zanpakuto of his. And land a captain's rank a week later. Really, did Seireitei need another idiot like him?
It's that time of year again. The time when he remembers the wedding under the plum blossoms inside the Kuchiki manor. He remembers that she was beautiful, just like her sister had been. Soft and delicate, graceful and demure. He remembers seeing a softness, a tenderness from him he had rarely seen. He remembers exactly how the two of them were so in love.
It's that time of year again. And he knows exactly how old he is. And exactly how many sorrows he has seen, how many tragedies he has lived through, and how many blessings he has received.
And it is enough.
He takes a deep breath and the scent of plum blossoms, just blooming, rests his mind.
He looks at her portrait and smiles.
"Hisana, the plum blossoms are beautiful this year."