Mustang,
I've been officially cleared by Winry and Granny. My automail is in "perfect working order." It still feels strange, sometimes, to move an arm that is not exactly my arm. But it works, and I'm grateful for that. Besides, it's better than poor Alphonse. I can hardly complain about functional metal limbs when he's stuck in a suit of armor.
He can't sleep, you know. Can't eat either. He tries to stay positive—that's just how Al is—with a list of things he wants to eat again (or to try) when we get his body back. I can't believe how well he handles the burden that's been placed on him. I don't even handle it that well…every day I wake up feeling guilty. Trying to bring our mother back was my idea, which means what Al is going through is all my fault.
But, now I'll be able to do something about it. I'm off to take the exam soon. Obviously, I'll pass and become a State Alchemist, and then…well, then I can find a way to keep moving.
Sometimes I'm scared that's all I do. When Mom died—the goal was to bring her back. Now that that's gone sour, the goal was to get my automail and get my title. Then, the goal is to get Al's body back. Mine, too, if we can. But it's always a goal. It's like something fucked up happened and now I'm stuck just chasing happiness.
Do you think I'll ever find it?
Whatever, that doesn't matter right now. The point is to keep going, that's what you said, right? So I'm heading your way.
Get ready for Edward Elric, State Alchemist.
-Ed