Memories are thoughts of the past. We remember them when are prompted, or reminded of something that has already come to happen. Some memories make us smile, or laugh, or blush with embarrassment.
Some memories make us hurt.
Edward let his human fingers trail softly across the metal rail of the stairwell. The stairs led down to his old schoolyard, which was empty of students or teachers. The bar was bitingly cold and water clung to his fingers from icicles that covered it, though he didn't take them away.
His cheeks and upper lip were numb from cold, and his legs felt like lead. Though, trudging slowly down the steps, Edward didn't seem to notice. Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, Edward shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed out into the middle of the courtyard.
The Resembool School was small, and only consisted of two buildings and a small courtyard. At the center of the courtyard, in the middle of four benches, grew a large cherry blossom tree. Edward, Alphonse and Winry used to have their special places between the roots, where they would eat their lunch and play.
In winter, the tree was frozen, almost coated in ice. And the usual flowering branches were hung with spires of ice.
Edward watched it carefully for a few moments, before approaching it and kneeling down, settling his back against the trunk and drawing his knees up to his chest. Resting his head back, he closed hazy golden eyes.
--
Roy stood on the landing of the stairwell, and watched Edward sit quietly beneath the frozen sculpture.
Some memories made us hurt inside. They hurt our heart, and make our chest ache. They bring a sting to our eyes and tears that drench our skin.
But, when its cold, and all seems alone.
Some memories bring us warmth.
