"What is her name?"
Observant eyes noticed the attention
he gave to the frame.
A beauty forever encased in glass.
It was ironic that it froze her in time,
never to move again,
a transparent grave of sorts,
some might even call it art.
They that watch smile
that someone so focused and intent
on mission and operations
could be capable of such feeling.
He only had the one, picture, memory, love.
He did not have her.
And so he replied,
"Was.
Her name was alabaster beaming in the sun, glittering like fire and just as alive.
Her name could send men to their knees,
and they would never even know it.
Her name..."
He breaks as the memories surface again,
for how can a man explain that
in such dangerous times
when love was taken from you,
there is nothing more to live for?
She has no name anymore.
To the rest of the world
she is now a thing to be discarded,
she will never be remembered,
never have the privilege of being forgotten. Nameless and therefore never existed.
And then he thinks about his own name,
and who will remember what he did here,
who will carry him on after he
becomes a thing to the world?
He wasn't even sure if it all mattered.
The loss of her made him question whether her end was to be his own soon enough.
The others are still watching,
they have now understood his meaning
and feel honored in his trust,
but now more broken as if his loss was theirs too.
"Her name is Leila." He said.
"Or at least it was."
SK
