The Scent

During a moment in the afternoon, your presence appeared once again. In our solemn private meeting, you stood before me. Our eyes met and our mind responded to each other. Your voice whispered to these ears, singing a memento mori of our long lost comrades.

Once more you asked our resolution after our time together. Before us stood tombstones signed by those before us. The song haunts me everyday. It makes me realize that every breath I take, I owe it to those who sacrificed everything for us.

Behind us now are children of our future. They are playing happily together under gentle watch of their fathers. Their laughter is what makes us stay strong facing our collective yet different problems. Their future is what we are trying to prepare even with our lives. This, however, I believe you understand more than I do.

These eyes are turning red and later blind, only replaced by the other sharpened senses. These hands are becoming even sturdier and stronger. I miss the scent of fresh flower in the garden which we watered together with those little creatures as much as I miss our gathering. Time has decided for us different roles and we embrace them. As I close the book about our tale, as I count the remaining of our family, I pray that one day we may be together again, watching those kids grow up as we grow old.

The tombstones have been prepared. We only wait for our turn.

Always yours,

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