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