Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
94: Midori
~*~
The colour
of miso soup, decorated with herbs and perfect bobbing squares of tofu, which
the one you love has worked hard to create for you, placed in your bowl and
served with a bright smile. The colour of his perfect meals, and the dry,
aching thought that enters your mind each time you grasp the knife or the
spoon in your own hand: Let it be like his...
The colour
of the forest in which you left the man you love, to train and grow stronger,
to perhaps gain a greater chance of surviving the forthcoming battle. The
colour of your eyes as the forest's dark tones glimmer within their depths, the
stormy emotions of fear, worry, anger, and sorrow ruining the joy you felt at
seeing him again. The colour of pain, of hope, mingling together in a strange,
uneven blend in your heart.
The colour
of the terrain you watch with him as you stand on the back of the train,
heading back to your dojo, back home. Back to his home, whether he
wants it or not - but he does, he finally admits that he does, that your home
is also his, and it is the first home he has ever had since he began his
lonely wandering. The colour of the grass, flowing up and down like a river of
feathers beside you, but not the
colour of your joy, for that is stronger, purer, less jaded.
The colour
of the eyes of your good friend, strange and half-hidden by her ever-present
cheerfulness, as she watches you with your husband each and every time she
visits you or you visit her. The colour of her pain, her quiet envy, seeing
what you have fought hard and finally won, knowing it is far beyond her reach.
The colour of her eyes, hiding behind the shining blue so near to your own,
flickering with hope as you encourage her, urge her to try again, and again,
and never stop trying until the man she loves so much turns away from his
coldness and solitude and looks instead to her for comfort. The colour of your
grief, as your heart aches for them, for the happiness that is so close yet
somehow beyond their reach.
The colour
of the gi you buy for your husband, as a gift and an apology for an argument
you began the day before - even though you won. A beautiful, silken gi that
was probably too expensive for him, something he would assuredly say, but so
beautiful that you didn't care, and he ought not care either. The colour of
the gi that looks even more beautiful when he wears it for the first time,
pulling it over his hakama and underkimono to check its size, and his hair
settles around his shoulders like a halo of red, and you think to yourself for
the millionth time how lucky you are to have such a handsome man as your
husband, your lover, your soulmate. The colour of your fears, your old
feelings of disatisfaction, stirring like a snake in your heart, but falling
silent as you ignore them, banishing them to the far corner of your mind, for
you no longer need those feelings.
The colour of prosperity. The dojo is blooming, like a flower in
springtime. You are happy. Your family is happy.
Life is good.
~*~
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