So it turns out back in 2009 I had this idea to write a story about war, from the perspective of a pencil that the soldiers use to write love letters home to their wives. There is more to it somewhere but this is the first part that I wrote in my drafts over 2 years ago. I have no idea what to do with it, so I will get it out of here.
“My dearest Rose,
Not a day goes by out here that I am not thinking happier thoughts of home beside you. I fear that even with your picture in my breast pocket, I will start to forget the beauty of your eyes. I cannot sleep - in part because my arms lay empty at my sides without you to hold, but also because the shocks and booms afar grow nearer every night. As I write you this letter, the lamp at my bedside shivers and dims. A fitting metaphor of my own life these days. My promise to you, dear, remains at the forefront of my mind always. Until
…
I wish I had arms big enough to hold all the loves I’ll never find. Abandoned again. Will I ever know the satisfaction of finishing a thought? Will I ever travel home with the words I write to her? I lay motionless without your motivation. And you are gone. Will I ever speak again? I can’t do this alone, please come back.
(Source: chillynds)
