I lie down on the soft grass, listening to the song of the wind
my lips curled into a frown as the red corporal approached, Crap!
Akashi Seijuro in his scouting legion uniform was all about the death of a titan
but all was unexpected when he dropped a rose in full bloom on my lap
the thorns stabbed into my fingers causing a scarlet liquid to ooze out of my hand.
In absolute shock I stared at his amused face. “why?” I questioned
“do not question me” a stern voice replied, seemingly raising land.
I remember a time, not like this but one where I was happy, though never mentioned
a nostalgic feeling running through my veins as an image displayed itself
me and 5 friends of male ran on a court, shoes squeaking against the wood floor
surrounded by nothing but friends and foes, a range of people stood on a shelf
a ball being bounced continuously before soaring through the air and once again meeting the floor
this sport was everything to us, and winning was all that mattered
we were the best but soon split in different directions thinking only of winning
I have missed them and longed to play but ended up stuck in a war where I end up tattered
where ever I go, when ever I step into the battlefield all I see are people dieing
“what is your story corporal?” I asked, having remembered mine
staring down at my blood covered hand he simply said “ This rose will not expose it's thorns yet”
some of us resemble roses, with our fates intertwined
over time we grow thorns, and some times we wane at the limits and obstacles that we've met.
