I looked into his broken eyes and he was hurt. He was lost, he needed someone to hold his shaking hand and guide him. His rage was stifled by doubt, by protectiveness. Fear slid into his brave heart as he everyday watched the death of his comrades, but no. He refused to give up and he used these faded memories to fuel him, to give him strenght to continue fighting. His tears were silver stars across the blue blood-stained skies. He roared his vengance at those who crossed his damned path, who twisted his fate.
I couldn’t feel him but I knew the fear of loss and the curse of being left alone. I tried reaching across the darkness, to find him. He wasn’t gone, he was there and I felt his heart beat with impossible warmth. His dreams lay scattered around, broken fragments of glass that once treaded upon would slash and wound. He bled his dreams away, his future slipping, slowly…vanishing. Yet, he stood up, on his wounded feet and bygone dreams and walked with courage. Towards a new dawn, he woke up inside of me the hope I lost and I don’t remember when was the last time I felt the brightness of its light spreading in my body with a tingling sensation.
The darkness was now blessed with the freshness of hope and a new day. He was there now, eyes blazing with the fire of battle and the will to live.