Cost of Love
I have destroyed a person's life before. When I have, I've walked away from the mess without looking backwards. People interpret this as callousness. They think I don't care, they think I don't love anyone enough to care about them.
They're wrong. The problem is that I'm exactly the opposite – I care too much. I love too hard.
I cared too much for him, for the man I'm still reluctant to call my father. Like every little kid, I looked up to him when I was small. No one was taller, or wiser, or stronger. He was everything to me. I wanted to be just like him – until he left. He left without looking back at us, no matter how much Al and I cried for him, no matter how much mom pined for him. And because I'd loved him so much, I couldn't forgive him for turning his back on us. Mom always looked so sad after that, even though I know she tried to live for us. But in the end... well, they say the sickness killed her, but I think I know better, now that I know how love works.
Speaking of mom – I cared for her too much, too. So much that I wanted her back after she'd left, that I was willing to reverse the flow of life and bring her back. I wanted her smile and laughter again. That was why I convinced Al to help me, why I pored over alchemy tomes that I often had difficulty understanding, why I devoted every waking moment to finding a way to bring her back to me. I just loved her too much.
And then Al. He left me, too, just like mom did, just like he did, but I wouldn't let him go. I dragged his soul back, bound it to a suit of armor that could never feel, sleep or cry – I confined him to his metal prison because I loved him, and I didn't want to be alone, I didn't want to lose him, too. So I condemned him to his unfeeling body, all because of my selfish motives.
Winry. I loved her too much, too. I couldn't let go of her, either – I pulled her into my world, a world of lies and deceptions and cunning traps, because I wanted her with me and I couldn't bear to erase her from my life. If I'd been logical, I would have broken ties with her, would have spared her the heartache and the worry. But I wasn't strong enough. Maybe distancing myself from her wouldn't have saved her from Father's eventual plan, but it would have made her life so much easier.
So, no. It's not that I don't care. I care. But love makes a person do terrible things – in which case, maybe I would have been better off, not caring.
AN: Obviously, I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Another piece I came across while investigating my computer files. I don't know when I wrote it, but I like it quite a lot.
479 words.