Do you hear me? Through these lost cries, through all this innocent blood spilling on a wounded land, and these supervillainous bullets and bombs, do you hear me? I can’t say your name, but I say it. I can’t scream, but I scream, and my last, maybe first true wish is for my shout to reach you. At least, somehow, I hear you. As I always have. These violent explosions lead to violent deaths, I’m no longer in that small town play where I first kissed you, I don’t know my lines, my death scene is scripted, but it won’t stop me from refusing to go silent.
This is a stupid war, made from fucking stupid men who’ve never been taught love. And it’s those who’ve learned it who suffer- who strive and battle and end up killed. And us? We who’ve shared each other’s tears like we see from the same eyes; we who’ve stole smiles from our lips like we should go to jail; we who’ve proven there’s no such thing as two separate bodies. We’ve learned love too and that’s where our bad luck began. Now our tears fall from different eyes, our lips are locked in apathy like a jail and I have to admit that maybe a body can split in two.
A bullet grazes my head. I hide, dizzy, in a giant hole an old explosion left behind. This embarrassment of a land, bloodied and raw, will be my coffin; I almost feel ashamed of my own death. I don’t really know where I am, but I do know I’m too far from where I left you. I’ve tried to get closer and I’m sorry I failed. In my letters, I’ve sent you nothing but false hopes and impossible dreams. I’ve ran out of those. I’m sorry.
I’m a weak, coward man. Not man enough to fight a war. Those who are enough die by my side. With voices as low as the whispers we traded in those boring Sunday sermons or as loud as screams capable of mocking the sounds of bombs, they die. The sky above us shoots to kill. Men you and I knew, childhood friends crushed like some repressed memory. And no one dies with a smile. I guess I can see my future now. And here I hide behind the dirty mud, crying the tears no one will collect, able to taste the smell of blood on my dry lips. My hands are shaking like the first time I sat next to you in class, but I have to confess I’m a tiny bit more nervous this time around.
If I came back home, we’d have to meet again; I’ve let myself break, I’m not the same man you’ve loved, and now I shoot any shadow running in front of me. Who knows how many I’ve killed? But the terrifying part is that I would kill all of them for you, even those by my side. But how many are like me? How many enemies are fighting not for their country but for someone? How many of those have I killed and which one will kill me? I don’t want you to see me like this.
An enemy falls by my side, and I just freeze. He cries words I don’t understand, crawling to me, tears in his eyes but blood on the knife he wields. He pins me down and tries to slash my neck and in his own there’s a pendant with the photograph of his mother, that swings back and forth, too peaceful. I almost don’t want to fight back. Almost. If you thought you can’t kill a man with your bare hands, I’d prove you wrong, my love.
I lie on the mud, defeated like I’m stargazing the stars in one of those clichéd nights of ours. Nothing would prepare a man for this, not even the hope of coming back home. I’ll try, but I won’t. The part of myself that’s still sane doesn’t want me to come back. And I shouldn’t. If you’re listening, stop listening. If you’re waiting, stop waiting. If you love me, stop loving. I feel ready to give up.
No.
No, I won’t stay here to die. You deserve more than that. I rise for my cowardice and I walk forward, unafraid, through the heart of a war that was never ours. I’m bigger than the landscape around me. I’m more human than a war’s blood. Somewhere ahead, I see you and I hear you louder than ever. You’re close and I don’t care about my mind’s tricks. I run. I’m no longer in a futile battle, I never want to return to one. You’ve smoldered the sky of its planes and crashes, you’ve drank all the red rain, healed all eyes that saw too much and gently pushed war away from the cold corpses, only to bring me what I had already forgotten.
I feel my feet sinking in warm sand, I hear the sea telling me soft blue words, and I’m that awkward kid I once was, on that beach that was once ours. And you’re there, hair dripping in salt and a smile that promises mine hasn’t been lost; waiting for the man that never changed, for the man who’s voice you’d recognize when you finally heard it. I know it’s not you, and I don’t want you to be. I’m going to die, but you have to live. That feels fair enough.
And then, at last, I feel it. I feel the bullet eating through my chest, tearing me apart and leaving me alone with a sudden and burning pain running through my bones. Nothing I’m not used to, really. On my knees, eyes close to closing, I watch you go away and I really don’t mind. I’ve tamed my ghosts, I’ve gathered my loose words and I buried some part of myself in this mud for you to one day find. I’ve trained my goodbyes and I’m glad you won’t hear me. There’s not much else to do.
In the end, what killed me wasn’t this stupid war that broke our body in two, nor the stray bullet that spared you from myself, nor the incognito enemy that from me only knows blood. In the end, what killed me was you. It was always you, my love.
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