to my dearest sunlight.
the guns have been quiet for three nights. I thought silence would feel like mercy. It doesn't.
It only gives me enough room to hear everything I have been trying not to remember.
I still have your last letter. the paper has gone soft from being folded and unfolded too many times. I know every crease by heart. I know where your handwriting becomes smaller when you are trying not to say something.
you told me to come home. I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
there are nights here when the smoke settles low over the ground and the whole world looks like it has been rubbed away with a dirty thumb. those are the nights I think of your kitchen. the chipped cup you hated. the little window above the sink. the way morning used to find you before it found me.
I never knew a person could miss a room. I never knew I could miss the sound of someone putting down a cup.
everyone here talks about surviving as if it is the same thing as returning. It isn't.
some part of me has already gone home to you. some part of me never will.
tonight, I tore open your letter again just to see your name. I held it near the fire, but I couldn't make myself burn it.
It felt too much like killing the last thing in this world that still knew me. so I folded it carefully.
I put it back inside my coat. and for a little while I pretended that when this is over, I will walk through our door, put my things down, and find you waiting there.
I know better. but let me have the lie tonight. the night is cold. the fire is almost gone.
and somewhere beyond all this smoke, I still love you. and I will always do.
for dear : @akutui
