Of Love and War

“At sixteen hundred hours sir,”
 
I watch as the smile subtly drops from your mouth as you absorb the information. I don’t want to leave, to leave you, and I hope you can see it in me because God knows I can’t say the words out loud. 
 
“So soon?”
 
The unsaid question hangs in the air like smoke: ‘Why can’t you stay?’ 
 
It hurts you just as much as it hurts me. That knowledge, as truthful as it is, rips through my chest like stray bullets from a loaded gun. I don’t want to leave you; I hope you can see it. 
 
“I’ve been called for the front line, Sir”. 
 
I really can’t stay. 
 
This is what we both signed up for. The war. The fear. The anxiety. But we both know it wasn’t as bad when we were together, fighting off the night terrors by each other’s side, fighting the war that exists only in our minds. But we were never ready for that little comfort to torn from under us, rotating our lives until we span out of focus. 
 
The world isn’t a kind place. But to tear us apart so swiftly was an unforeseen blow. 
 
I almost want you to argue. To ask that I stay, to demand it! But we are both soldiers, and we are both confined to that duty before anything else. If it was a choice, it wouldn’t be mine. 
 
There is no argument, no characteristic pleads to stay. I’m leaving. At sixteen hundred hours, and that’s that. 
 
I want you to ask me to stay. 
 
You nod, unable to pull your eyes from the spot on the ground where my boots reside, and fiddles with the cuffs of your uniform. The swagger stick in your fist is held so tightly the skin around your knuckles turn white. 
 
I see it. You want me to stay. 
 
Silence settles over us as an uncomfortable weight. 
 
I wait for you to take the step I cannot fathom taking. I wait for you to say something, anything. I wait for you as I will always do, but the clock behind you taunts me viciously. 
 
“I will miss you, Lieutenant.” Your eyes reach mine, and I find the words I need. 
 
Stay. 
 
“By that I mean, we will miss you. We do important work here and your contributions have been invaluable.”
 
You rock on your feet, swagger stick in both hands, nervousness seeping from every movement. It was unfair to want you to do something I don’t have the strength to do. Cowardly. 
 
“Thank you, Sir.” 
 
There is so much I want to say, need to say to you but my mind cannot find the right words – and I don’t know if they exist. My heart drums in time to the ticking clock looming over your shoulder, and I know I don’t have long.
 
We don’t have long. 
 
I want you to say it. I want you to step forward and beg me to reconsider. I want you to be the one to risk it all. And I want you to do it before I have to leave. 
 
But I know you won’t. That you can’t. And I don’t hate you for it. Please don’t think I hate you for it. 
 
There are words within us that must stay secret, there are truths hidden inside us that would destroy everything we have worked for. But I want you to be the one to continue making me forget that we’re at war – with the world and with ourselves. I want to forget everything but you, everything but the weight of your hand in mine, and the sound of your voice, and the rare smile that paints your face. 
 
But we are at war. And we are out of time. 
 
“Will that be all, Sir?” 
 
You’ve said everything you needed to say, I promise you. You didn’t say it, you didn’t need to. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and I see yours. It weeps and it pleads with my own, it comes spilling out in desperate waves of sorrow before evaporating in thin air. I feel it entwin within my own, and I hold it there, some place magical. Somewhere we can be free. Somewhere full of peace. Somewhere full of our love. 
 
Because I love you sir. I always will. 
 
You nod -like you heard my confession and hide it quickly within your heart. But the tension in your muscles tells you to say something. It’s hurting you. I can see. It hurts me too. 
 
I do what I always do and try to help us both. I nod briskly in reply, turning on my heel to leave. I hesitate slightly with the door in my hand, waiting one last time. 
 
“I say Lieutenant,” I turn to face you, and watch as your eyes dance around us, looking for the enemy. Then you step forward, swagger stick behind your back, and my lungs hold onto my last breath. Your voice is just above a whisper, but it’s the loudest thing you’ve ever said. 
 
“Write to me, will you?”
 
I can’t help my eyes as they fall down your face. You’re too close, it’s too tempting to touch. But my hand reaches out, finding your behind your back, brushing my fingertips over your knuckles that strain under the grasp on the stick. 
 
Its secret, and its ours. 
 
“Of course, Sir.” 
 
And I leave.