Flyboy
Promise
When you left for duty, you promised me that you’d be back. You wouldn’t promise your mother, because you didn’t know if her heart could handle if it you couldn’t follow through on that promise. You didn’t promise your friends, because they were leaving with you and you didn’t want to make a promise to them that you’d come back if they didn’t return, too. But you promised me. You told me I was strong enough to handle a broken promise if it came down to that.
You were wrong.
I always knew that the world was a cold place, but I didn’t know just how cold it was until I got the notification letter in the mail that you weren’t coming home. I remember crying for hours. And then, I just felt…nothing. It felt empty and hollow inside, like I didn’t have a heart anymore. I couldn’t cry when I heard your name, and when I looked at your picture, I felt nothing.
I used had a picture-perfect view of the way our life was going to be, until you became a flyboy. I always thought that we were going to live in some rural Wisconsin town with tall trees in our front lawn. I thought we’d have a nice little bungalow-style house with two bedrooms in the back and a nice, white picket fence surrounding the grass. Eventually, I thought we’d have a baby or two, and a nice family dog to watch over the place while you worked nine to five at some mill while I stayed home as a housewife. But my plans were nothing but a mirage, and now, I’m left alone.
I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for what you’ve done to my heart, even though I’m always going to love you. I was never the strong woman you thought I was. How could you expect me to stand tall while my world was crumbling around me; while my life was being shattered into a million pieces too small to even bother trying to mend? I loved you so completely and so deeply, and I know you felt the same way about me. So why did you make that promise? Why did you tell me you’d come home? Why did you make me believe you’d make it out of that godforsaken place alive?
You used to tell me that my eyes reminded you of Coca Cola. You always told me how as long as I never cried, you’d always think I was the prettiest gal on the block. When I asked you how you’d think I’d look if I cried, you told me that you wouldn’t be able to stand seeing tears in my eyes. You told me it would break you, and I called you a liar. And now, I’d give anything to be able to just have you look into my eyes and see my heart breaking. If I could have that, it would mean I could have you and your cocksure attitude; your warm arms, and your loving kiss. It would mean you’d be alive.
I remember the first time you told me that you wanted to be a flyboy for the war. I told you that it was a stupid idea. All the other boys were leaving and I didn’t want you to be the next one to go. I knew the risks. I knew that there was a chance you wouldn’t come home to me, but you reassured me that you would. You promised me that you’d fly back home to me and land in the yard, and that we’d go on a nice little trip up to Niagara Falls so I could see the water. And looking into those slate grey eyes of yours, I believed you. I thought you would return. I believed your promise, and look what it got me.
I don’t know how to live anymore. I don’t know if I want to wake up when I go to bed at night. It’s hard to breathe sometimes, and it feels like the world is just empty. I’m just walking through the motions now, like I’m detached from everything. I don’t care about anything anymore. You’re gone, and that’s all I seem to be able to think of anymore. You’re not here in my arms where you should be. Instead, you’re in a pine box’s embrace six feet below the ground. All that’s left of you in this house is the folded up American flag, your dog tags, and the aviator sunglasses that you were wearing the day you died. There’s a small chip in them, on the bottom of the right lens.
I just want to be able to have you back in my arms again. I want to be able to breathe again; I want to live again. I want to have my soul back, but like you, that died the day your plane went down. The world is cold, and until I see you again, it’s only going to get colder every day.
You were wrong.
I always knew that the world was a cold place, but I didn’t know just how cold it was until I got the notification letter in the mail that you weren’t coming home. I remember crying for hours. And then, I just felt…nothing. It felt empty and hollow inside, like I didn’t have a heart anymore. I couldn’t cry when I heard your name, and when I looked at your picture, I felt nothing.
I used had a picture-perfect view of the way our life was going to be, until you became a flyboy. I always thought that we were going to live in some rural Wisconsin town with tall trees in our front lawn. I thought we’d have a nice little bungalow-style house with two bedrooms in the back and a nice, white picket fence surrounding the grass. Eventually, I thought we’d have a baby or two, and a nice family dog to watch over the place while you worked nine to five at some mill while I stayed home as a housewife. But my plans were nothing but a mirage, and now, I’m left alone.
I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for what you’ve done to my heart, even though I’m always going to love you. I was never the strong woman you thought I was. How could you expect me to stand tall while my world was crumbling around me; while my life was being shattered into a million pieces too small to even bother trying to mend? I loved you so completely and so deeply, and I know you felt the same way about me. So why did you make that promise? Why did you tell me you’d come home? Why did you make me believe you’d make it out of that godforsaken place alive?
You used to tell me that my eyes reminded you of Coca Cola. You always told me how as long as I never cried, you’d always think I was the prettiest gal on the block. When I asked you how you’d think I’d look if I cried, you told me that you wouldn’t be able to stand seeing tears in my eyes. You told me it would break you, and I called you a liar. And now, I’d give anything to be able to just have you look into my eyes and see my heart breaking. If I could have that, it would mean I could have you and your cocksure attitude; your warm arms, and your loving kiss. It would mean you’d be alive.
I remember the first time you told me that you wanted to be a flyboy for the war. I told you that it was a stupid idea. All the other boys were leaving and I didn’t want you to be the next one to go. I knew the risks. I knew that there was a chance you wouldn’t come home to me, but you reassured me that you would. You promised me that you’d fly back home to me and land in the yard, and that we’d go on a nice little trip up to Niagara Falls so I could see the water. And looking into those slate grey eyes of yours, I believed you. I thought you would return. I believed your promise, and look what it got me.
I don’t know how to live anymore. I don’t know if I want to wake up when I go to bed at night. It’s hard to breathe sometimes, and it feels like the world is just empty. I’m just walking through the motions now, like I’m detached from everything. I don’t care about anything anymore. You’re gone, and that’s all I seem to be able to think of anymore. You’re not here in my arms where you should be. Instead, you’re in a pine box’s embrace six feet below the ground. All that’s left of you in this house is the folded up American flag, your dog tags, and the aviator sunglasses that you were wearing the day you died. There’s a small chip in them, on the bottom of the right lens.
I just want to be able to have you back in my arms again. I want to be able to breathe again; I want to live again. I want to have my soul back, but like you, that died the day your plane went down. The world is cold, and until I see you again, it’s only going to get colder every day.