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Broken Soldiers
by Alex Kimball

...

The scars run thickly across your face, marring the smooth pale skin with lines of purple and fading pink. Some day they might disappear, but neither of us holds out hope for that. Your scars stand testament to the hell we have been through. I have lost my heart, you have lost that solid, calm face that used to stand before the world fearless. The first time I lost my heart, it was gladly. I handed it to you with a smile. But our hell ripped it from your grasp as our demons came to tear us both to shreds. We lost that solid foundation upon which we had stood. Now, though we still cling to one another, it is not out of passion but out of fear. Fear of ourselves, fear of the rest of the world. We are lost.

I trail my fingertips over your scars, and you shudder. I kiss away the ghostly pain by habit, knowing my mouth and body offer you no solace anymore. You catch my palm in your hand, pressing your broken lips to it. I feel the scars on your lips, through your kiss. I shudder in response, not that pleasant shudder that used to lead to hours of pleasure, but rather the shudder that keeps giving me nightmares of our past.

We cannot stand alone. But together we are still broken, shifting on the wild seas like a half-dead gull, searching for land. Powerless to simply die, we breathe and speak and move, but cannot live. We exist, two broken soldiers in a war that was never meant to be fought.

end