HELLO!
I am new to the APH fandom, so I seriously hope that this is satisfactory.
(IN OTHER WORDS PLEASE DON'T KILL ME GUYS I KNOW THIS SUCKS OKAY)
So. I had this idea while reading Chinese poems that I must learn ((sob sob)) and this is the first one out of probably quite a few because I make really weird connections
Okay.
Disclaimer: I don't own. OK. Goes for all chapters because I am lazy. Also I do not believe there is copyright on poems written hundreds of years ago so OK
Enjoy~
离离原上草
Fields of Grass
There were so many of them..
He'd loved them.
He'd loved each and every one of them.
It had been everything for him, watching them grow, knowing that, at that moment in time, they'd loved him with all their hearts and he loved them back just as much.
It'd been so perfect, him and every single one of his brothers and sisters, taking care of the grass, the garden that he needed to keep pristinely perfect. He'd worked so hard, cared so much.
How good his life had been, and how he didn't think anything, just looked over the fields of grass, the garden that he cared for so much, that he showered with love day and night.
He was too naïve. He didn't think. He had only lived in the present that to him was everything he needed and he didn't even look into the future and wondered what it held. He had only stayed in the life of his, blinded by contentedness, and he never, ever thought that, despite everything...
一岁一古荣
Every year one will wither, one will grow
Despite everything...
They'd left. They'd grown, they'd separated, and eventually, they'd left him, left him wondering what was the point in life anymore.
What kind of life did he lead? Carelessly giving his heart away, and watching it break?
He'd loved, he'd lived, but he'd broken, and now there was nothing.
He tried. Yet everything slipped like sand through his fingers.
And yet, despite everything, he's making the same mistake, over and over again as each time one withers away, a new one grows, though his love never ends they leave him, yet without realizing his mistake he takes in another.
Is he only too protective? Is he really, truly going delusional—is it, perhaps, his age? How many more years until he, finally, breaks?
Why can't he just start over?
野火烧不尽
Even wildfire can't burn away the grass
That's what they say.
How can he trust that?
Every time he tried to live a life, every time he tried to start over, to take in a new nation, he'd realized, he'd realized what a pathetic life he led as he tried to do more for others and less for himself, he'd realized how stupid he was as a gigantic fire spread through his heart, tearing it into pieces.
And the grass vanishes.
Vanishes as flame and war spreads through the lands.
Is rid of the healthy happiness they once shone with.
Fills with hate and malice.
Breaks his heart.
Becomes nothing but withered, dry ash, carried by the wind, carried away.
春风吹又生
When the spring wind blows, they will grow back
They will come back.
He is there. Waiting at the edge of the fields watching endless brown stretching into the horizon where it meets beautiful blue, and he is waiting and watching for the day he sees the first shoot of green, then more and more and more as the sun rises once again over the country where the sun sets.
He is waiting. He is waiting for the day his heart will mend itself, though crookedly, and he sees, slowly, bits and bits of grass rising again from the once-barren field, watered by his tears and his sweat and his blood.
He wants them to come back.
How many years? How many years will he wait, in the darkness, as the light descends behind a mountain, as spears and swords and bullets fly through the air? How many years will he continue to stand, a wall, unmovable yet almost-broken, slowly wearing away, slowly defeated, slowly getting too full of himself and falling, falling away and becoming nothing..?
Tears come to his eyes as he watches the first grassy sprout emerge from the soil.
The sky, once indigo-black and devoid of all cheerfulness, is slowly lighting up into a beautiful perpetual blue.
He doesn't want to cry, but he does. He's sorry and he's ashamed, yet watching the beautiful springtime overtake the barren, dry fields is so much, so beautiful, so absolutely amazing and wonderful and fantastic.
He doesn't deserve it, but it's true.
They have come back to him.
He's waited, for so long, he's kept faith and he's waited and even though every single person he has loved as left him and—presumably—never, ever come back, they are here now because wildfires cannot kill all the grass forever.
And the war cannot keep them apart forever.
The sun is rising again.
The grass is growing back.
ALRIGHT
I'm not even sure myself what I just wrote
Just
Review
Please
It makes me happy
Okay
Bye guys :)
~Mikako-chan