Because my last story was so angsty, here's a story that ends on a hopeful note. More of Winry's thoughts on Ed. I made up any childhood tales told, but hey, I can dream.
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Love is a word I am unfamiliar with.
I remember as an infant telling Pinako about how cute the boy at the mechanic store had been. She had worn a smile so secretive and strangely pleased at this remark, even though I had forgotten about the brunette after that moment, beaming at her pride.
Perhaps it was because the next day was the day Ed and I had met, by the riverside on my way to the market.
And I have never spoken to anybody how I feel about Ed. The vision of him is too splendidly limited, and any sudden movements might shatter it, letting it slip from my grasp and shy away.
As a child when Ed would have a cold, often because of his juvenile stunts, he would give a small sneeze that resulted in a little shake of his head. I had never thought much of it until a few months ago when he had returned with his automail once again busted, and had crawled in from the rain with a cough.
Things never really change, I guess.
Once upon a time he had been furious with his father, and had cut all of his hair off for a reason I cannot recall. He had been so embarrassed to confront me that afternoon, eyes lurking for an escape, head finding an immediate interest in the dewed ground.
I had run my fingers through it, measuring out the length with my fingers and lingering at the feel of straight ends. The look of surprise he had given me was immense, but he didn't complain about his hair after that.
And those summer days… the skies seemed so much larger then us, and we would lie in under the shade of a tree, senses blinded by the smell of fresh grass and the moans of the chortling water. Cloudless visions of purity, and when it would become night, the stars would guild our vision as we would lay bathed in the moonlight.
I had memorizing each freckle and mole, reaction or smile of my chum. We would talk about marriage between the two of us, so innocently done, no thoughts on the future we would fight through.
For at that time, every day was a decade.
Each hour is still precious. I don't know if Ed has such reminiscences as I do, or that he even remembers his promises of forever.
Maybe I will remind him of how it once was. But till that day, love will remain a childish hope, that neoteric word that is so wondrous, new and strange to me.
Until we meet again.
