Personal challenge. From Winry's point of view. Blah blah blah, it's late, I don't know what else to say. I love my reviewers, though.
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What we call 'despair' can be another being's refuge.
Pain can be measured in faltered steps, screams exposed in raw gasps or a thread of unshed tears. Do beings keep it in to feel a sense of purity? I had once been told it was juvenile to cry, so I keep it in to mature. And people see the growth in my work; words of 'your mother would be proud' shared often with that knowing smile I have become accustomed with.
And yet every time he stumbles home, tattered and crippled, I would be reduced to tears. Not for me, for I had long learned to keep those in. I would cry for Edward, the tears he had never unleashed, for he was too brave, stubborn and stupid.
I had never for a second assumed he had liked this feeling, but given the thought, maybe it reminded him on his principals. Like his sin, his motive, that rhythmic pulse or metallic clank that sounded with every step, each instant pounded with the unmistakable melody of finality.
I have never lived like that, so I can not judge his decision. And he is not yet ready to present me with his intentions, so until the day he completes his fate I can only hold him close to me before he leaves for good, whisper my luck in his ear and bury my fears in his warmth.
The day he stops his journey is the day I will tell him how I feel, the day I share with him those emotions and await his, the day I will get my 'happily ever after'.
Waiting is difficult, and every minute not knowing how he is a darker shade of violet under my eyes and a cloudier day.
But I wouldn't have it any other way.