(no subject)
I knew a boy once. He was calm, intelligent, and made me laugh whenever we spoke. He went out of his way to make me feel desired and understood. He was young then, beautiful in his own way with a light to his eye that always made me smile. His voice was soothing and dark, like a calm water under moonlight. He told me stories when I felt lonely, and sung me to sleep when I couldn't stop crying. I loved when he sang to me. He created a world for me that always was peaceful, tranquil, and full of vibrance and life. I clung to it, a place to hide when the darkness of the real world came crashing down in waves of anxiety and sadness. We dreamt together of far off lands and past encounters. We spoke of the future where we would have all that we needed and didn't yearn for more. We talked of our education, our history, and our future love making when the time was right. We were still so young, but these thoughts were something to hold tight to. A soul mate only comes once.
When the boy left me alone to fend in the world, I was not afraid. He would return to me a man like no other. I prayed he would still be that boy, but ready to take on life outside of our quaint towns. We both struggled then, alone and hurt. I fought my battles with my friends, family, and school. He fought his with Knives, guns, and grenades. We both came out of it scarred but alive. We never reached a state of content.
I then knew a man. Still calm and intelligent but the light was dimmer; darker; stained with the blood in his past. He was too young to witness such horrors but these are the times we live in. He smiled less, and declared his love quietly. At first, he didn't declare it at all. Time heals some wounds however, and soon he welcomed me back into his life. We started to live our dreams. A beautiful child graced with a mind that could not be matched, and a home in a beautiful neighborhood. I went to school, he went to work. We were pacified until he went back into the battlefield.
I know a man. Broken, shattered by time and exhaustion. Not even a quarter of his life gone but he moves as though he is on his dying breath. He laughs still, occasionally finding humor in humanity. He thinks of me as a lifeline to his sanity. A bridge between his blood drenched world and that of normalcy. He cries when he sleeps sometimes and wakes me only long enough to hold him until the sobbing stops. He doesn't know he cries. I do. I don't see why a man should know when he has been beaten. Sometimes I cry with him but usually I cry alone. Dreams? I sleep in darkness and live in nightmares. I try not to think of what the night holds for him, but I know he still fights his demons whenever sleep takes him from me.
When the boy left me alone to fend in the world, I was not afraid. He would return to me a man like no other. I prayed he would still be that boy, but ready to take on life outside of our quaint towns. We both struggled then, alone and hurt. I fought my battles with my friends, family, and school. He fought his with Knives, guns, and grenades. We both came out of it scarred but alive. We never reached a state of content.
I then knew a man. Still calm and intelligent but the light was dimmer; darker; stained with the blood in his past. He was too young to witness such horrors but these are the times we live in. He smiled less, and declared his love quietly. At first, he didn't declare it at all. Time heals some wounds however, and soon he welcomed me back into his life. We started to live our dreams. A beautiful child graced with a mind that could not be matched, and a home in a beautiful neighborhood. I went to school, he went to work. We were pacified until he went back into the battlefield.
I know a man. Broken, shattered by time and exhaustion. Not even a quarter of his life gone but he moves as though he is on his dying breath. He laughs still, occasionally finding humor in humanity. He thinks of me as a lifeline to his sanity. A bridge between his blood drenched world and that of normalcy. He cries when he sleeps sometimes and wakes me only long enough to hold him until the sobbing stops. He doesn't know he cries. I do. I don't see why a man should know when he has been beaten. Sometimes I cry with him but usually I cry alone. Dreams? I sleep in darkness and live in nightmares. I try not to think of what the night holds for him, but I know he still fights his demons whenever sleep takes him from me.