Heartache.
My heart aches.
They took my heart from me. When they made me into this thing. When they took my broken body and rebuilt me. I can still feel it, though. Beating. Aching.
I think of you, you know. I stare up at the stars through the thick peals of smoke that must cover this entire planet by now, and I try to decide where you are. With no way of knowing where you are, or what has happened to you, I imagine you safe, and happy. I don't know for sure. I'll never know, can never know. But I can hope.
I remember a day when all we did was lay on your bed, the sun falling on us through the window. “This is what it's all for,” you said. I didn't understand what you meant, and I ignored you. I'm sorry. I think that I understand now.
That single, peaceful moment, is why we do everything. It is the purpose of government, of law, of religion and economics.
And war.
We do these things so that the people in love can lie in the sun together.
I hope that that is why I'm here. I hope that's why I have killed so many, why my body was destroyed and why I will finally, mercifully, die.
I don't know for sure. I'll never know, can never know. But I can hope.
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