A Moment With You.

4

The war had finally ended. No more suffering, no more pain. And alas,, a moment of peace and quiet seemed to finally arrive. A new beginning, a time where we could feel at peace with ourselves. A moment where we could live, not just survive or exist, but truly treasure life and everything around us better than ever before. After all of what we had endured, combined with the loss and deaths that transpired -- life was finally ready to be touched by our own hearts and souls, and so was living. Men, women, they all celebrated. It didn't matter who was the enemy; life was going to get back to normal, even if it was temporary. Let me tell you boy, did it bring with itself some magnanimous inventions and events along the way.  It was during the very next day that I happened to be writing into the diary that I brought with me when we served, sitting atop of a small hill right off of the  beach.  A nice, rock-clattered beach that held waves of passionate summer breezes, dashing just finely so along the water. The gold of the sand, grey of the rocks scattered throughout like stone jewels of onyx and cobblestone . The lively wind that passes by my skin as I could feel it brushing across my cheeks. A warm, brisk touch of sunlight and that one thing you can never forget: The scent of the sea. Clashing with waves and seagulls, seeing little insects come and go in the golden sand. It  was like a new feeling of euphoria, but not sexual. A sort of magical, rejuvenating type. I remember it so vividly. There was an island, too! I couldn't believe that! An island! I had only seen a few places in my life, most of them boring or somewhat unrefined. But islands in the far sight of the eye, those things seemed to bring me a sort of inner joy. A gentle, yet soothing type of joy. As though a child was discovering new things. It reminded me of a summer beach in Sardina, Italy, where you could see in the long far-off distance, the merry islands off of the coast and the blue waters that stretched like blankets of sheer diamonds reflecting their brilliance back at the sandy gold coast. Thinking to myself, I wrote down a set of words into the diary with a sense of melancholy: 'Once upon a time, I believed you would lay my burdens to their final resting place.' But as I looked out towards the ocean and felt the gentle breeze of fresh, living wind from the grand blue and beyond, I believe I had felt a newfound energy.

Something like love, as though my hazel eyes fell in love with the world, all of its terrific scars, horrors and disgraces, together with all of what was, and would be. The beauty of life, of living, of breathing and enjoying. When I felt the sun caress my slim, tender hands. I began to smile, and from there, something came out from  my lips.

"Ah, che bello," I simply said, gazing out, two words in Italian that framed the simple beauty of the world by saying 'How beautiful' with a sigh. I had learned them from a farmer who worked in Italy when we were posted there before going to France. It was one of those happy, memorable moments where a weight was lifted, and all things horrific were forgotten. I went out to the fields, the graceful and beautiful fields of France, and it was there that I had laid my eyes on the gorgeous aspects of animal life, the grass, the sea. Alas then, suddenly, there was an angel-like woman out in the far distance. Red hair, black bonnie type formal suit shirt and boots. She wasn't from here, must've been a stranger, maybe a foreigner. I was right, she was, for in the distance I studied sitting against a tree, a book in hand as she looked over to me when our eyes met.

Her face showed a wide smile across her cheeks. British, or partially British, at least. Red hair that flew with her figure, lips as crimson red as blood, yet with the soft tincture of her fair skin. And a spirit that was more alive than my own. It disturbed me as it cracked something within me. She was everything I was not, so momentarily I found myself not being able to stand such a difference. For seconds, I cursed to myself. The ability to be truly happy, to live and enjoy. It left me gruelling at the thought of it.

Though, soon after, I got up from the seabed rocks and walked towards the area where the woman, still sitting with a book clutched in hand, was waiting for me. . It was a horse-ranch, one of the few peaceful places that had not been thoroughly affected by the war. But then, nobody really cares about the peaceful mountain areas and seafronts where there was nothing to gain, even if they had some sort of territory on it.