The flower blossoms floated in the wind, that same wind whipping her black-brown hair into a frenzy. She sat in the dirt, surrounded by trees, bushes, and flowers. She was alone, no servants scurrying about as this was her personal garden and she barred servants from it. She was surrounded by serene, tranquil beauty.
She was stumped though.
Frustrated, tens of hundreds of wadded up papers surrounding her, Rin found herself wadding up another piece and throwing it behind her.
She had been trying for days to write down the perfect words. They were so difficult though, every time she thought she had it, she messed up and then realized everything prior was just a bunch of rose colored crap. She'd ball up the paper and throw it aside, her frustration growing with every paper scrapped.
She just couldn't capture what she was trying to capture. The words, they just didn't flow right, come together as she pictured. She could hear them, she knew what she wanted, but they just refused to come. "We're too tired," the words were saying within her mind, "give us a rest; we'll come eventually." But the eventually wasn't coming. The words kept resting and resting and no matter what method she tried, they wouldn't rouse.
Another piece of paper wadded up and thrown away, another maddened sigh as she scratched her head. Why the words would not come to her, she didn't know. All she knew was that they wouldn't. She coax and coo at them, hoping to entice them, wake them, but they would glance at her out of the corner of their beady eyes and turn their noses up at her. "Unworthy of us," they told to her. "We're going back to bed."
The words just didn't see the importance of what she was trying to do. They didn't get why she needed them so badly, why they needed to flow like rice wine. She would tell them, but in return, they would tell her that it wasn't as dire as she was saying it was.
It was lord Sesshōmaru's birthday though! How was that not important, not dire? The man who took her in when no one else could be bothered to care, the man who clothed her and raised her, that was lord Sesshōmaru. How come some dark corner of her mind was telling her that it wasn't important, that it wasn't the deal she was making it out to be? She knew with all her heart and soul that this was important, but a niggling part of her mind had doubts, doubts the rest of her couldn't comprehend.
She sighed in frustration once more and tossed away another crumbled paper, another set of words that failed to inspire.
Was it the words though? Or was it her? She kept blaming the words for her problems with this piece of poetry. They just didn't like her, she kept saying. That they were too tired or they say she was unworthy. But she'd also blamed it on a part of her conscious she had no control over. Did she just not know what to say? Did she just have no desire to say it? Was she just trying to force out words for him that meant nothing to her because of propriety?
That couldn't be it though. She loved him; she wanted to give him this. It wasn't just out of propriety she felt obligated to write him a poem, hell, not many celebrated the anniversary of their birth, and certainly not him who though most things were unnecessary, especially shows of emotion.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she feared that her work and effort would be for naught; that he wouldn't see the importance of what she had to say and why it meant so much to her. It would be characteristic of him. When it came to feelings, he was as clueless as a newborn. But was it really right to blame this issue on him?
The more she chased the ever-lasting whys and maybes, all Rin found was confusion and depression. No matter what idea came to mind, it just was stupid. It wasn't the words' fault, it wasn't that she doubted it was important, it wasn't because it felt forced, and it wasn't because of him. The first was downright silly. The second really didn't make sense, as it was most certainly important to her. The third idea was also nonsense because it was flat out false. The last one was also foolish. Her lord made allowances for her that he did no one else, and he was understanding of her gestures of affection, appreciative of them even.
All in all, she was just stumped.
No one else would care, she wrote on the next blank page. She just needed to stop being so critical, she rationalized. She was being too meticulous, that was her problem, that was what was leaving her stumped.
No one else would ask, because no one else had.
No one else would spare a glance, the only glances she'd ever received were disgusted glares and dirty sneers.
No one else would.
She scrapped it, tossed it aside like all the rest. It was stupid, cliché. He already knew all that, heard it before from her peach-colored lips. There was no originality behind it, nothing that would imprint it in his mind or make it stick out from the billions of other poems he'd heard throughout his long life. She groaned and began to scribble down more characters she would scrap over and over.
Finally, when the sky was streaked orang, gold, and purple, the man who was making her life so difficult appeared. Someone had finally come and told him that Rin had been in the garden all day, and when someone had peaked out at her, they found her surrounded by mountains of crumpled papers and sighing, frustrated at whatever task she was attempting.
"Rin," he said to gain her attention as he stood over her and her failed work. Her brown eyes instantly snapped from the paper to the man, red tinging her cheeks. "Explain yourself."
"Um… well… uh…" She looked like a deer caught by the hunter, eyes disproportional in width to her face, mouth marginally agape. "It's um… Well it's, uh…"
"Be honest," he said, mildly irritated by her stuttering.
She sighed, giving up. "I've been trying to write a poem."
His golden eyes scanned the piles of paper.
"Interesting way of doing so."
"It's just not right," she whined. "It's all forced and stupid. It's boring and it predictable and it doesn't sound unique. I keep trying and trying but it's just bunch of cra… garbage," she caught herself and changed her wording in attempted to sound "lady-like".
"Why do you force yourself? This is obviously not what you want to do. As most would say, not what your heart is telling you to do."
"But…" she trailed off, no argument coming to mind. She looked away, not catching as he bent down and picked up one of the discarded papers.
"No one else would care, no one else would ask, no one else would spare a glance, no one else would," he murmured as he read the failed attempt. His golden eyes were narrowed as realization bloomed within his mind. "Is this poem you are attempting for me?" he asked as he glanced to her who stared at him in horror.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," she hastily denied. "It's uh…" There she went with stuttering and awkward attempts at scrounging up excuses. With a sigh, she admitted to it. "Yes. It's for your birthday, but it just doesn't want to come."
This time it was his turned to sigh as he unrolled another poem and read that one.
"It's not necessary," he said as his eyes took in the futile scribbles. "I'm aware you're grateful for what I've done for you. You make the quite clear, quite often. I… appreciate the gesture though, but would be more pleased if you picked up this mess and stopped wasting all my paper."
The red tinge returned to her cheeks, brighter than before. "Of course… sorry," she said with a sheepish grin. "Thanks," she murmured.
"You're welcome Rin."