Spring is coming.

It is said to be a representation of rebirth; new life. Something that brings joy and peace. Through it, color bursts forth into the world that was previously shrouded in a cruel, white wasteland. Animals come out of hiding to play, the trees awaken from their winter slumber and become beautifully lush, festivals and celebrations ring through the air creating excitement and liveliness, the sakura bud and bloom, painting the ground and sky with a scatter of soft pink snow.

Spring is coming. The break in the storm meant to promise clear skies and joyful hearts. Truly, it is a beautiful season that brings life and hope.

And yet... I feel so cold. Empty, like a weathered tree that did not survive the storm but is somehow still standing upon its roots, though they have been torn from the ground. There is no laughter, no joy, no life to be had, but somehow I still stand. Perhaps it is a punishment. A punishment for being so impure. For what purpose is there for a man- a samurai- who can no longer live by the sword, has no-one to fight beside, no-one to protect, and no-one to come home to? A man who has already lived, loved, and lost everything? A man -nay, a sword- who has fought its battles and failed in the end? Failed so miserably, that not even death wants to take it in its grasp?

I have no choice but to accept that this is the price to pay for my transgressions. What else do I have left to believe in? Swords are meant to take life. My life was taken without me. Everything I had, everything I loved… everyone.

Where did I go wrong?

Spring is coming. I wish you were here to see it. I wish you were standing by my side, with that smirk on your face and the corners of your vibrant emerald eyes crinkled just slightly in contented joy. I wish your warm hand was holding mine, staving off any chilled air and providing a steady source of comforting companionship. I wish that I could hear your laugh, or see your face again. I wish… I wish that you were still here. It's silly, it's impossible, but the longing still remains. The space beside me feels too empty. It's selfish, this desire. It's better to be dead than in constant pain and unable to fulfill your purpose. I should feel glad that you're gone. …In the very least, I hope you are facing a better fate than I.

Spring is coming.

A spring without you is coming.

.

.

.

A cold wind blows.

A/N- It's been five years, but I'm back with heartbreak, folks.