You let me love you.
You let me believe in you, in us, in something worth coming back to.
I have walked through hell, bled in the dirt, watched men – good men – be torn apart just so I could get home to you. And for what? For this?
Do you know what it takes to kill a man? To look him in the eye, to see the fear there, the desperation? Do you know how many fucking times I've woken up, hands shaking, heart pounding, wondering if the blood on them would ever wash away? But I did it. I did it because I thought it was worth it. Ending lives and risking my own would be my ultimate proof to you that I loved you. That I would do anything for you. I took bullets for you! I would've died for you.
You know, I used to close my eyes over there, in the trenches, in the noise, in the dark... and I'd see you. You were my light. My reason. The thing that kept me breathing when all I wanted was to stop. And I counted down the days – days I didn't even know I'd survive – until I could see you.
But you weren't waiting for me, were you?
God, every Leave, every fucking love letter we sent. Did you mean any of it? Was any of it real?
Don't you dare 'Thomas' me. Our marriage is ruined. You ruined it. And for what? A warm fucking body while I was out there getting shot at?
Because I fought a war, and I survived.
But this? This is what really kills me.
YOU ARE READING
To Live is to Die
PoetryI find war a fascinating topic-so broad yet so focused, filled with so many emotions and endless stories to explore. Sadness has its own kind of beauty, and that's what I wanted to capture here. To Live is to Die is my way of remembering the lives s...
