Disclaimer: The canon characters from the "Rurouni Kenshin" belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki, and all associated concepts. This story is written to serve as nothing more than an outlet for my frustration with the recent movie/movies. I'm doing it because I felt like it (well, my Muse didn't give me any choice) and am not planning to realize any sort of monetary award for it (I'm broke, so suing me wouldn't do any good anyway). That's all.
He was a wanderer searching for an answer. Trekked the uncomfortable journey with nothing to lose. The stars above became his maps, and the concept of lost and misplaced became too familiar. He witnessed many sunrises. Wished that the rays that blind him were rays of hope. Letting him know that even when sunsets come, he deserved the sunlight.
He walked back and forth between guilt and regret. His soul laid between lost and wanting to be found. His memories tortured him without any glimpse of serenity. The taste of love, breath of forgiveness, and the smell of betrayal still lingered in the air. His appearance brought terror to those who recognize it. He had a name, but no one cared to call him. He built walls yet craved touch. He caged himself, yet long for a release. He was homeless with the vast sky and nature served as his resting place. He spent his last sen, and dignity faded; with dirty hands, dirty nails cooked a pot of weeds so would satiate hunger.
He knew his vow was weak and incomplete, and he longed to find the answer or understand what his worth was. He wanted to know if things would make sense. His weary spirit and tired muscles were already wearing him down. He wanted to believe that his story is not over yet, or maybe another chapter would start. But for now, he must travel again. He was a wanderer, and the howl of the wind is calling him. It seemed Tokyo was the right destination to be.
A/N: "pot of weeds" taken from Chapter 35 of Hokkaido Arc