A Moment With You.

7

Family, time, emotions, lives. Were any of those things truly worth the suffering and damnation that came attached to it? Each and every day I questioned my life, I did horrible things that I have never been proud of and probably never will be proud of. But Elisabeth, no matter -- she would be there -- glorious, warm, loving. Why, I could never understand. I wasn't a good man, I was foul, atrocious. I did deeds that no man should do. I murdered someone as a soldier. Maybe that man had a family, maybe he was innocent. It mattered not, alas, for in the end, I took the life of another man who could have been at any moment, my very equal. Yet, despite it all, even when I left my family behind, Elizabeth seemed not to care at all. Instead, she brought herself closer, deeper, inwards towards something that I never allowed others into. 

The war had taken from us all. In it all, perhaps perplexingly, we found ourselves. Comradery never truly died, and neither did the true and unending love we had for each other. Throughout all the pain, she stood by my side, reminding me that there was indeed, a small, almost dead little glint of hope left in a dark, empty abyss. Yes, yes indeed, the war had truly made us appreciate life much more than what we used to. If only, the mere wish that I'd have, is that we could all smile together once more. Together again, boys turned soldiers -- brothers, outcasts in arms ...

Ah, to dream, to dream. One can, surely, although it brings nothing into existence but pure suffering and agony when unfulfilled. What happened after the day at the gala was mostly a fog in my mind. It took some time to come back to my senses in a normal manner. I didn't feel okay, even though I wasn't the only one to feel the severity. My sister was afflicted too, and from that day forward, Elisabeth was not going to allow me to walk away again from a sister who needs me. Though, it all suddenly fell quiet as Elisabeth's voice began singing a soft, gentle tune. I watched with my eyes as the quiet suddenly fell on us both, right before the strings of a guitar. The feeling was as though I was touched by the tender warmth of sunlight on a Sunday morning, with the heft of a funeral and passing. A bittersweet melancholy filled with both joy and pain. A song of farewells, of memories and going aways. Silly, the thoughts that come about when you think of something during the acquaintance of musical beauty. I could see her there, on that window ledge as her auburn hair flowed smoothly along her shoulders. Elisabeth, singing, whispering a tune, a tale of something. Mourning, light and darkness. She saw it in me, the way I felt and how I behaved. Loss, abandonment, betrayal. She saw it all and allowed it into song, coherent and beautifully ironic.

"O' Merry morn' I call upon thee,

sun and joy In this mournful morro'

O'Merry morn' I cry, alas.

For all I've done, for want of wit.

Till the parting mast rose' I've taken naught but a dreadful hit.

And goodnight, I bid thee' In farewell and sorro'

Your embrace no more, I feel.

In mournful morn'

We part away, you without me.

I cry, alas. Tears not shed, long awaited.

As I lay with windows open, Eyes peeled to'ards the black mast'

Farewell we cry, tae m'emry now,

the morro' comes and rises,

and the ship sailed into the night,

Chanting with glass in hand tae m'emry and sorro'

As farewell we sing, sailing away its last."