Of You

I can't remember. I try to, but I can't. I try to remember how we had first met, or the last time we spoke. I try to remember what I had told you, whether we had fought or parted on good terms. I try to remember whether I had told you that I loved you, that I always would. I try to remember how often I'd reassured you that I was here, that I would wait for you, that I would wait for you forever. I try to remember whether you'd believed me.

There are no memories as I stand behind the uniformed men, frozen in a time that I so desperately wish was over. There are no feelings, no pain. It feels as if I've been thrown in some sort of nothing. I don't even know if I'm breathing the right way. Everything, for just this once, is still.

But for one brief moment, as the soldiers - your comrades - lift their trumpets for the final farewell, my eyes fall upon the framed picture that Simone holds in her hands and the shield around me breaks away.

You're pretty.

Be my girlfriend?

I love you.

Mornin' beautiful.

Mrs. Granger, I'm afraid I have some terrible news.

And I break.