Prose

I remember when I met you. I fell hard. 
I remember when I told you the truth. I remember you saying you felt the same. 
I remember when I was so nervous. Today I still am.

South Dakota football player. Scholarship. Lifeguard. Bartender. 
Army Ranger. Mine. Yours.

I remember when you told me you were being deployed to Germany. I didn't really know how to take it.
I talked to you there. You said that you liked it and that made me pleased. 
We sort of lost contact after that. 

Next thing I know, it's a few months later and I'm talking to you over yahoo messenger.
I was happy that we had 'reconnected'.
I never felt more alone.
I asked why the all of a sudden talking to me.
You said you had felt that I had forgotten you.
You said to me that you were glad that you were very grateful for my talking to you.
You said that made you felt warm and comfy and you never lost feelings for me.
I never felt more empty.
You say to me that just because you guard your emotions doesn't mean you don't have them.
You say that you just wanna break down, but you don't think I'm ready yet.

All this to find out that you're going to war again.
He's going to be shot at, to be exact.
I don't remember the name of the city, but you were gone for about a week.
I was terrified. What happens now? Are you ok? I'm scared.

After a week or so he says I'm back. Boots are in New York. I need some sleep. 
The next few days are ok. They smooth on by. 
Then you text me with I think I'm suffering with PTSD.
We barely spoke the next few weeks and I was scared.
I miss you. I need you. You're not here. I don't know how much I can handle.

You tell me that you were hospitalized and they took your phone for 'rehab'.
Couple of days go by, maybe a week, and you say that you are sick; throwing up blood.
I'm worried. You say it will be ok, it's probably a virus.
That doesn't make me feel any better.
You go to the hospital with your gay roommate and get some morphine then pass out.