edward alphonse pls


Winry says that he doesn’t cry, but that is not true.

He cries for the little girl with braids in her hair and a heart big enough to love where love was not deserved. Every night he hears her cheerful voice calling his name, and when he wakes to remember that she will speak no more, he cries.

He cries for the tiny child with pigtails who was the apple of her father’s eye. He remembers how much her brave father loved her, and how brave she now has to be without him, and he cries.

He weeps for the child whose death triggered thousands.

He thinks of a baby boy that came lifeless into the world and made a strong woman weak with grief, and he cries.

He sobs for the blue-eyed firecracker of a girl whom he loves with all his heart—for the parents that were wrenched from her life when she was so small, and for the ache he still causes her every time he turns away.

Most of all, he cries for the boy who can’t cry anymore—the boy whose soul is so warm but whose body has become so cold.

Winry says he won’t cry for himself, but Edward cries for all the bright-eyed children that he has known—and for the bright-eyed child he once was.