Ink and Letters

3. proper burial

The relentless routine of army life blurred the days together, leaving me trudging through a desolate existence. Dawon's tag hung heavily around my neck, casting a shadow over every step I took. In the midst of the numbness that consumed me, there was one thing that kept me tethered to my fading humanity the letters.

Each arrival of a new letter was like a lifeline thrown to me amidst the tempest of my soul. I clung to every word, finding solace and an ephemeral connection within them. Yet, one letter, in particular, pierced through my being, etching its words into the very fabric of my soul. "Dear Soldier," it began, its words resounding with a depth that struck me to my core. "In this world consumed by darkness, let it go, and know you're not alone."

Those words struck a chord within me, resonating with the pain and turmoil that gnawed at my insides. It felt as if this anonymous writer peered into the abyss of my being, truly comprehending the weight I carried. In a moment of desperate impulse, I made a decision that would forever mark my body and soul. I had those heartfelt words tattooed onto my skin, each letter an indelible reminder of the connection I felt with this enigmatic writer, a connection that surpassed anything I had ever experienced before. As the ink seeped into my skin, it felt like a defiant act against the encroaching darkness, a symbol of my unyielding strength.

Those words became my armor, shielding me from the ever-present threat of heartbreak, a constant reminder of the resilience dwelling within me. Day by day, I withdrew further from my comrades, their presence fading into the background as impenetrable walls rose around me. Comfort awaited only within the letters that arrived like beacons of hope. The once alive Dawson had been replaced by a frigid detachment, save for the enigmatic female writer.

Within her letters, I discovered a sanctuary, a safe haven where vulnerability and honesty flowed freely from my pen. I poured my heart out onto the pages, exposing my deepest fears and regrets to the only person who truly understood the weight of my experiences, even though her identity remained shrouded in mystery. With each exchange, our connection deepened, her words serving as a soothing balm to my tormented soul, offering support and understanding when no one else could.

The inked letters on my skin became a tangible link to her, a constant reminder that someone out there cared for me, even if they didn't know my true identity. Yet, as much as I yearned to unravel the enigma that surrounded her, I couldn't shake the fear that accompanied such desires. What if the revelation shattered the fragile bond we had forged? What if her perception of me changed once she knew the truth? Anonymity allowed me to be my true self, to share the depths of my being without judgment or expectation.

As time wore on, my obsession with her letters grew, becoming the sole source of light in this dark and desolate world. The tattooed words on my skin served as a constant reminder of our ephemeral connection—a connection forged through ink and paper alone. But amidst the solace I found in her words, a persistent ache tugged at my heart.

Beyond the confines of written correspondence, I longed for a tangible presence, someone who could bear witness to the burdens that weighed me down. Yet, the fear of losing what we had built through our anonymous correspondence loomed like a specter, haunting my desires. In the depths of night, when silence engulfed the camp and haunting memories invaded my dreams, I would trace my fingers over the tattooed words on my skin. They offered me comfort and reassurance, a testament that somewhere out there, this mysterious writer understood me in ways no one else could.

And so, I continued to write and receive letters from the anonymous female, cherishing each one as if it were a lifeline. As my time in Korea drew to a close, I was soon to be shipped back to my hometown of Maine. With a firm grip on Dawon's tag, I made a solemn promise to give him the proper burial he deserved, to honor his memory in his own sacred resting place.