Love, War, and the Fourth of July

In the end, none of it mattered. All the fights, all the tears shed. They were nothing. In the end there was just him. There was just me. There was just this moment. And in that single moment with the Earth falling down around me like the walls of Jericho, he was all that I could see. He was all I had ever wanted, he was all I needed, and he was all that had ever mattered and all that ever would matter. He was the sun to my rain clouds. We'd been through a lot, he and I. We'd seen the best of the world and survived the worst. We'd even survived each other. That was the real miracle. The world and its cruelties were nothing next to our little chaos. I'm getting ahead of myself here though, telling the end before the beginning. That's how stories go. The end is important, sure. This darkness. This final moment of clarity before the light or fire consumes our souls is the fate we all meet, but we live lives first. We've shared moments and experiences. Its these combined moments, both good and bad that are what really matter in the end. No matter how we come to that end. Now, before our lights go out to whatever fate awaits us, I wish only to share with whoever is out there in this fading world, a story not just concerning our love, but of the life we lived, of the struggles we faced together and conquered. Whoever finds this, if anyone should find this, you won't know us, Ronan and I, but maybe it will give you hope because in this world of shadowed, faceless figure nothing more than mere wraiths floating listless in this decaying lifeless terrain hope is the only light left. The world-My world wasn't always like this though. There was a time when the skies always seemed to be blue. When my sun shone bright and true. And when it shone, it shone greater than any star in the sky. It didn't just give light to the day. It gave warmth to the soul. It was in this world of light, long gone now, that my-our story begins.