Writing my last words in the leather covered pages, in hope you will understand. They were ours to write what we can't say. But I am holding yours and you are gone. On the bottom of my pond. Why did this happen?
I read all your words out loud as you thought me once. I stop and smile and stop and cry. I reread them many times. But the past will stain forever. Even when you are just inches away, in my pond, resting, my heart cracked and all that was there is mixing with the water and blood.
I am thinking about dream I never had a chance to tell you about. It was peaceful dream about a pond, a rock and reading. I read your words and you read mine. Just peaceful dream that will never come true. Instead I am looking at you and my fingers run over words of pain and sorrow. You became quiet and I spend days yelling. But maybe I yelled the wrong way, maybe I yelled too loud, maybe I yelled the wrong pieces. I should have whispered instead. Last words I can't understand. Fearing that is regret. But whatever will be next I regret nothing but one.
That in this world of war I lost the one piece that make me look forward to another day, by my own hand.
