It's funny when Shakespeare is the cover of my journal
yet I'm no one but normal. I'm no poet, just a delayed writer & perhaps
a frantic lover.
He's leaving at the end of the first month of summer. I told him not to leave. I plead and beg. But now, we suffer. The love we have has turned into storms & thunder. I reckon numbers but soon, I lost my count. Will you still return to me or not?
The war is raging but still you fight, my brave musketeer.
Gunshots & bombs you feel, see & hear. Then one unexpected night,
you called me at 11 o'clock, & I was mental blocked. I was now filled in glee
to hear your voice again.
We exchanged I love yous & you said, "I will be home soon."
But that soon never came. Yes, you're now home. You came home but why are we all wearing in black? I see you sleeping. Your face is now unrecognizable in your casket.
One of your fellow cadet pulled something from his pocket. He gave me a letter & said you're the bravest soldier he ever met. You said, "My soon-to-be-wife, I'm sorry I lied but I'll never be home. I'm afraid this war will never end. But I know our love will transcend. I love you. I always proclaim you're my wife & you carry my life. Now, I'm with you always."
The cadet pulled out something again from his pocket. But this time, it is covered in white handkerchief. I know it was yours, it has an embroider of your name that I made. He unveiled the cover & went down on his bent knee.
"This was always his plan, but on behalf and as his final request,
please take his pen as his sign of his eternal love. He hopes for you to
continue writing. He loves you as he love our country. Continue living
and inspire others of your works."
My brave, brave soldier, you can rest now. You've been in pain for too long.
In my writings, you always have a special place to belong. My almost husband, we will meet each other soon; under the moonlight where we once shared our love. But for now, I have to write & continue living as you want me to have.
