Don't ask what brought this story on. I did spend a good hour on it, and now my arms are really sore from staying in the same position all of that time, but oh well. I am done! Wahoo! I really don't have much more to say. It's pretty straight forward. Please review!

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At birth a life is fragile and precious, haunted with the vastness of the plains and oceans and knowledge, the nevers and forevers and opinions other then your own. Are the keeping of pledges and unspoken infatuation between friends maintained by fate alone? Perhaps legends and lies are told to cause hope, whether it be false or bountiful when it comes to expressing devotion and a foolish will's passion for a reality surpassing our own.

A back turned to one will face another direction in that instant, but are you prepared for the responsibility of the distance?

Maybe the tears that would puddle in your ears were just another way of saying 'I love you', the heavens bleached with stars, while you would casually turn your vision out the window from your bed and acknowledge this, raising a hand to gape at the moon's immensity and grasp its logic with a closed fist.

Maybe your faltering smiles would continue to reveal lost emotions, fading and pealing in spite and reminiscence, autumn days passed floundering in a mock goose chase to fulfill a promise. And if you find it, will you bear ridding of the only claim I ever placed on you? Your arm and leg. No, I didn't forget.

A possessed pen can sputter out faithful words, much as an aged heart can still beat, but without that bond, how will you return to me, Ed?

I have waited seasons and grown humble to the life that surrounds me, the lukewarm sunsets projecting corals and vermilions over pallets of white, the trees that still release blossoms of moonlight in the cool wind, the same winds that would watch over us and sigh.

But unlike the months and letters filed under leaflets of astray notes I will wait for you, for fate to recall the blond haired girl with azure eyes and reward my patience with a glimpse of those golden eyes smiling, waving your hellos with a worn arm, rather it be metal or not.

Silhouettes are all I receive in my dreams, those or blood spilt, sewed among flax strands of hair, always out of reach when neared. You never liked to be touched, but now, more than ever I wish you would reconsider and retaliate my words.

I have begun to run out of paper, so till tomorrow I render you once more my love and an oath that I will still be here the day you decide to return.

Until then,

Winry.