This story is a sequel to Quiet Letter. Read and Enjoy.

If the World's Not Enough

The wind whispers as it twirls delicately around her enviable form, bobbing and weaving throughout shining brown hair, fluttering beyond clothes and betwixt spread fingers, gently caressing her smoothe, tanned face and peacefully closed eyes, starting as a perfect breeze and finishing as an almost innoticable zephyr. These moments personify, epitomize bliss, vanquishing her many worries into the warm abyss created by simple happiness; from this enjoyable peace, opportunities to smile are born. Few realize the importance of such a simple, mundane, everyday activity, yet she knows. She understands that in times of both war and peace, joy and depression, love and loss, a smile can exemplify so many feelings and moments that it can be nothing less than her most precious possession.

Especially now.

Her world is wonderful; there are no two ways about it. Each day she can awake to the knowledge that were she anywhere else, no occurrance, regardless of its merit or worth, simplicity notwithstanding, would ever seem as wonderful. Each tiny part of it, even the ones that have brought her unspeakable pain in the past, hold a special place in her deeply understanding heart; and though some do moreso than others, the important fact remains that her thankfulness to exist here by far outreaches the anguish she still harbors for those three devastating events that have ravaged her young life.

Her smile fades slightly, taking on an air of sadness as the wind dies and conjures to mind those horrible tragedies despite her best attempts to evade the rush of regret accompanying them.

The incident that, in retrospect, might have begun it all. The horrible, accursed turn of events that should cause any sane person to lose their hold on happiness forever. The loss of her voice instead. The beasts who accomplished the deed slithering away without another mention, whilst she was left without the ability to speak and, much later, a newborn baby boy. The torture it inflicted upon her psyche.

The destruction of her home. The obliteration of the only place she had known since birth, for purposes lost upon her and for the benefit of uncaring creatures and a cause she would never find it in herself to respect. The struggles that both preceded and followed the event.

...The pain of losing him forever twice. The return to consciousness upon the sight of his dying body drenched in his own blood, fading eyes gazing with amazement and disbelief towards the sky he had always chased so recklessly. The chagrin that plagued her as she returned to the surface with the hesitant knowledge that, despite his promise, he would not.

The grass quietly lies down beneath her as she shifts, extending her legs and leaning slowly back until she finds herself in the same resting position as the blades beneath her. Just as he always looked to the sky, so does she at this very moment, searching for an answer in the cloudless blue. Though it constantly eludes her, she cannot help but smile softly, finding herself captivated by the picture of him she has painted in the sky. Having lost herself to despair more than once, she now finds it, thankfully, nearly impossible to succumb. The breeze picks up again; soft gusts of air resume circling her majestically, tossing her pink bangs up in conjunction with her eyelids' gradual lowering. She cannot deny the happiness that resides within her now, stoically rebuilding her mind and fortifying her heart.

He violet eyes, full of life, reopen to glimpse the beautiful landscape laid out before her once more. These temporal visits to Resembool are the pinnacle of the new world seemingly opened to her within the window of the same world she has always lived in, raising her even higher than seeing Lior completely rebuilt. After her most enjoyable visits with Winry, after paying her respects at Trisha's grave, because Edward can't be here anymore to do so, after standing so quietly at the spot where the brothers' house itself used to stand, she finds herself presented with these opportunities to simply lie down and feel the world around her, rather than seeing it; and there is no greater joy than that.

It is inexplicable, even to her, that she should be this happy, and yet, it is possible that things are best this way. Perhaps it is because she knows that Edward will come back, and that he is always here in spirit. Or perhaps it is because there is nothing traumatic left for her to see. Not anymore. Most of all, it is because she has finally found the inner strength to be content with what she can do with her own strength, and to leave everything else to the powers that be. If Edward returns, the eternally balanced scales of fate will find themselves evened once more; if he is no longer of this world, never to be seen again, then that is how it is meant to be.

It is a different woman lying on the hill in Resembool, content with letting the wind graze across her skin and dance in the sky above her. Beyond all the changes she has made, however, during these moments that personify, epitomize bliss, vanquishing her many worries into the warm abyss created by simple happiness, there are times when she can close her eyes and listen, and rest assured in that she can still hear him whispering her name, just like the wind.

Rose...

If the world's not enough, these magical moments transmute her very existence into a joyous understanding, and suddenly, everything she has lost no longer seems so far away.

A pleasant aroma streams through the breeze, permeating the air; zephyrs dance around her; she feels the warmth of the sun on her skin. Sumberged in pleasure, she slowly fades out of awareness while relaxing so peacefully on the hillside, not a trace of discontent in her mind.

◊◊ ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ ◊◊

As a drop of rain falls, her eyes flutter, slowly, hesitantly opening themselves to the world around her. She blinks quizzically, unaware for a moment of her whereabouts, unable to process the sights and sounds around her. The sky above is dark, littered with stars and featuring the moon. The breeze has died. The rain begins to gain momentum, increasing in speed and frequency, convincing her to push herself into a sitting position.

Amidst the soothing tears falling from the wondrous sky, her senses begin to return to her, and she notices a folded piece of paper lying prone next to a faded red rose.

Fin

A/N I'm so disgusted with myself right now! I'm a man, dammit! Why can't I get away from romance? Well, thankfully for me, I was finally able to write a oneshot without any outright romance stated in it. I actually felt inspired until I hit the halfway point, and then my ideas simply died, so forgive me if you notice a drop-off in quality. I know it was short, but so was Quiet Letter, so...what can you do?

Thanks for reading. I still want to write and express myself, I just don't have ideas lately, so I welcome anyone who wants to PM me with challenges, requests, anything you want me to write, etc. Review if you can.

LL