Magazine article WLA ; War, Literature and the Arts

In Observance

Magazine article WLA ; War, Literature and the Arts

In Observance

Article excerpt

The first time he said he loved me he said it in German, which was weird, because he didn't speak German. I reveled in the artificial romance as he tucked me in, kissed me on the forehead and boarded a plane to the Middle East.

Three years spread across the Atlantic like a bomb throbbing to detonate. The fires sent smoke of his letters that claimed to be love. I would hang his dog-tags off my bed post and dream of the safe return of an army medic who was sweet on me. It was an old-style romance built on solitude of pens bleeding falsities on paper.

It ended, as it began, with a deluded cellular connection. Two devices held together by a string of bondage fractured by words on one end, silence on the other.

The glistening metal he wore around his neck chants hope and whispers words of encouragement. Messages written from my hand to his heart that he buried in the sand of the desert heat, thinking I would never hear.

I sit here now, reading kind words to soldiers and veterans, thanking them for their service to this country as my heart calcifies and ceases to pump love through my veins thanks to his disservice to me. …

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.