For but a moment I was tricked. I could feel that cold air on my skin. I could see those crystal-like lights. I could feel your hand in mine, so soft and gentle.
I was taken away from my Hell, to the place where we were together, watching the universe crawl by. I was surrounded by spent shells, lying silent on the sand; my uniform was ripped and bloodied. My heart sat in a million pieces all around me with the brass.
Then I remembered. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly, I reached up and undid my helmet's worn straps and let it slide off my head. Inside, tucked neatly in the crest of the helmet, under the padding, was what I sought.
A picture, so plain and simple. Her beauty could not be captured in a single frame, but this was close. My dirty hands felt it. It sunk into the deepest trenches of my mind and buried itself there. On the back, in black ink it read
"Dear Love,
Not a day will pass that I don't think about you. Don't forget to think about me."
"I could never," I whispered, my voice hoarse. My eyes grew heavy, my chest hurt. I rested my head back on the sand and thought for what seemed like forever as the life drained out of me.
Images of everything flickered in my mind. My mother cried as I was sent to Basic. She never understood that I wasn't fighting because I hated what was in front of me, but because I loved what I left behind. Then, the girl in the picture seeped in through the cracks in my thoughts. My memories of her burst, and poured in like a river. I wanted to hold her one last time, to kiss her, but I could not. I could only drift further and further into nothingness.
I wish I could have told her that it didn't hurt to die; that I would be alright really, but how could I ever convince her of that? "Never stop being there for me," she had said.
I could never.