Letters to the Dead
|If words can travel to you...|
I don’t know why I am writing this. It feels like writing to the void. Perhaps the envelope shall never be opened. Perhaps my words shall never be read, never be replied. My questions shall never be answered, and my feelings shall just occupy the emptiness left behind.
I don’t know if you even exist. I don’t know what became of the war, what devastation it caused. I don’t know what became of the thousands of soldiers; how many lives were lost, and if anyone at all escaped that fate. And it’s killing me. It’s eating me inside out.
Perhaps I’ll tear this up. I don’t know what more to write. Even the ink is blurred with my tears. No, I didn't cry, till today. How am I, you ask? I’m living, eating and still breathing. I wonder how. I wonder why. How are you, if you are still there somewhere? And if you are not, then how’s oblivion? Should I join you?
I don’t want this to be a letter to your grave.
Return if possible.