I’m standing here in front of the iron bars and Leon shouts my number and takes my identity card from me and places it into a little folder along with everyone else’s, our faces showing up like a little memorial album of the people who died in so and so. He hands me my weapon.
I walk away, just another number, another soldier without an identity card, another soldier without an identity.
Right now I think, nobody could look as beautiful as Jennifer Connelly did in the ballroom scene of Labyrinth.
This is a goodbye.
A goodbye to the people who have once been a large part of my life, and who have, over the months and minutes, slowly become just other people on this earth. Goodbye to all of you who were once important but not anymore. I tried to keep you, but things don’t go that way sometimes.
This is an apology.
An apology to the people who have once regarded me as important. An apology to those who have tried to contact me but failed due to my absence. I’m sorry that I could not be there. I know you tried to keep me.
Ours swings back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I’m listening. You’re not.
You have no idea, the things I do for you.
