(no subject)
he thought of all the times in his past that he wrote about pretty girls and how they made him feel.
how he would cry when they didn't notice him and would ignore them once they did.
he grew up and stopped crying and started fighting.
he fought is parents, he fought himself, he fought the war.
while out on the battlefield he wished he could cry.
but there was no time in his life
there were only
Bombs.and.dirt.and.blood.
But no tears. No hearts.
No emotions except for fear.
But he'll never admit it.
he'll never admit that he misses looking into the sky and crying into her pillow
or knowing what it feels to hurt
knowing that someone is hurting
just as badly for him, not a war.
to stop fighting and start breathing
to be afraid.
too afraid, because it keeps you going
she knows he has run out of gas.
she knows his tanks aren’t moving any longer.
she knows that crying and feeling and being able to love is out of the question.
and maybe just maybe she’ll be up on that front line sooner then he thinks.
((((((i don't think I'll ever be able to leave this war))))))