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67 ‎ ‎ Letter to an Old Lover

America, 

You probably won't see this for some time. WHO says it might take up to the moment where Neo closes, in which case Canada will have to haul you out of here and I will perhaps never see you again. And then this letter will probably be buried underneath all the others from your admirant crowd and you'll never read it. Britain and France might let me visit, but I know that they won't want me hovering over their doorstep like a lost, futile man, and that they'll tell me one day to find someone else and learn to love again.

But truly, easier is said than done. The guilt eats away at me every day; that you thought I was a traitor, that I held a knife beneath my coat and worked in tandem with those forced to true betrayal. And yet the metal wounds not me but you. 

Was it the heat of the time, the fear of death, the exhilaration, a sense of apology, or was it love? Was it all? Did you forgive me, for what you thought I had done, in a split second, or was it already a sentiment that you acted upon when you dove in front of a murder attempt? And how, then, did you find it in yourself to forgive even after I had, to you in that moment, undone all of the past years' work? 

You cared enough, somehow, to take a gunshot for me, despite it all.  

Come on. Seriously, I will never understand you, and I feel as if I never will, not unless you wake up and give me a chance to prove to you that I'd be willing to do that too, that I should've proved it earlier. 

I find it astonishing how the day's events played out; ridiculous, almost, because I feel like I didn't get proper sleep for weeks on end after that, but Global High loves to leave things in the past and so we have been. I'd like to hear you talk, to hear you marvel at all of the new developments, see your blue eyes widen, but I visit you every week and it seems to be a pipe dream. 

South says it won't help me alleviate everything. China tells me to take it easy. They all tell me that, say that I'll have to move on, find someone new, fill up some devoid spot in my heart where a bullet should've been. 

But I won't do that. Not yet, I tell them, but honestly, I think never. Canada tells me to stop leaving letters and says that even if I don't forget, I still need to stop letting this burden me so much, that you would've wanted this too. I'll try my best. I love you. I'll see you one day. 

Yours, Russia

★

THREE MONTHS LATER
"Took you long enough!" South whooped, clapping Poland on the back and making his legs buckle under the weight of the travel backpack. "You know, I thought that you both got eaten by bears or something. Cause there was that one time we went camping once and you nearly did." He paused. "Which is hilarious, in retrospect..." 

"Genuinely, stop telling that story," Germany grimaced. "I have enough to be dealing with already aside from accusations of being eaten by... bears." 

"It's a better bet than most of the other ones, don't you think?" Japan chirped, with the air of a wise and old philosopher. Ukraine giggled. 

"Nice to have you back," Canada interjected. "How's it been in the wilderness?" 

Poland sighed. "Nice. Really. Trust me, you guys should try it once, but with all of us there, it may be more of a battle for the last piece of marshmallow and not a genuinely detoxifying experience. Never got better sleep in my life, right, Germs?"