Work Text:
Back in District 19, New Year's Day wasn't as extravagantly celebrated compared to most thriving Corporations. It was common for residents to only celebrate at home with close friends and family, staying up until midnight and sharing a few drinks. The main difference was how there was rarely fireworks or flashy countdown, unlike how most people celebrate at the strike of midnight. It was relatively tranquil, although no less important of a celebration. As long as the stars shined brightly above them and the crops and livestock thrived in the fields, the upcoming year would be prosperous through the seasons. That was all they needed.
Hearing constant fireworks at the strike of midnight was something to get used to. Although the bus was always moving, colourful flashes of light followed by the popping of gunpowder in the air could still be heard in the distance. Some passengers were irritated by it, others completely indifferent. One blonde was turned around on her seat, gazing up at the colourfully-lit night sky with childlike wonder, smiling softly unlike the others. A smile that wanted to be happy but was hindered by conflicting memories of home.
She wasn't the only one. The tired poet seated next to her couldn't ignore the bursts of light in the sky that concealed what specks of the stars were still visible to the naked eye. He found himself with his head tilted back to watch the sky flicker with colour as well as he reminisced of someone he hopelessly held dear to his heart.
The buds have bloomed across your tarnished body and the land, but would you still appreciate a firework show? The sparks of gunpowder are obscuring the starry sky as if proving superior—brighter and more extravagant; more entertaining to watch. Appreciated in exciting bursts and otherwise unthought of, yet they overtake the stars which are respected in every glance. Such is the result of technology overwhelming nature—That technology that you grew to despise. Would you still prefer to admire the gentle twinkle of the stars overhead, or have your standards been overblown? Good-bye.
What would your resolution be, my camellia? A new year inclines new growth as the seasons loop back around. It's the only way the flowers will grow, yet I have not a clear goal since we parted. Good-bye.
Perhaps you're with the stars now, divinely connected to the gold of the spicebush and vibrance of the camellia. On the soil, you admired the stars; would you admire the soil? Did your sorrowful blossoms bring you the joy you would seek out? I am foolish to be asking many questions—your answers will not reach me until we reach each other once more. It is unfortunate that your life has been forgotten by many just like the fireworks overcasting the stars. I will mend my wings properly as you once wished and reach my hand for you, as I have not once lost the flicker of your dying light. Good-bye.
Good-bye. Though you cursed my work and the associated, I will not lose my hold on that hopeful wish you once made...