Dear Louise,
     I am writing this letter to you, my love, fifty years after the one summer day that everyone remembers. June 6th, 1944. The day I first landed in Normandy, France. I was fresh out of high school, only just eighteen. I was scared out of my mind. I remember the day I spent in the hospital, as the nurse looked at me and started a conversation. "You're all kids, sweetheart. You're so young. Eighteen, drafted to ****. Killing people at eighteen years of age. You're all kids, fighting for the same purpose. But it's not fair, I tell ya." I didn't know what to tell her. I couldn't think of anything besides the fact that I was defending my country, not only for myself, but for you, my love. I wanted you, us, to have that wonderful life everyone once dreamed of. Today, as you lay in heaven, I hope I was able to give you that life. The one you and I dreamed of. I hope the house, the marriage, the children were everything you wished for. I miss you dearly.
                                                                 Much Love,
                                                                     -Walt

We left these everything unanswered
and never had any form of closure.
You left me with these memories,
the good ones great,
the bad ones not so great.
I'm sorry for everything I've done,
but maybe if you show me what your dreams are made of,
we can make sense of this ordeal.
Because I know you still have something, buried deep within.
Did you want to tell me about selling your car?
Did you want to text me about the scar that now wraps around your ankle?
If you're done with us,
and trying to get over our conversations and memories,
than I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me out of it.
Close the door on the way out instead of trying to waste my time.
But if I'm the one wasting your time,
it's your call.
You left me,
so maybe I'll go show someone else what my dreams are made of.

You said you'd never be this guy.
So what the hell happened?
Why are you being the ******* you promised not to be?
I want to talk to you.
I need to talk to you.
I just have to
because
one day I'm perfectly fine
while on others, I want to scream and cry because of the stuff you've done.
But I know you're not going to tell me what I want to hear.
Would you even meet me somewhere to talk?
Or would you ditch me?
I can't stand to be ripping at seams on those horrible days.
Why the hell are you this important to me?
I'm no beauty queen.
There isn't anything special about me with my ripped jeans and tshirt.
Maybe that's why you decided to leave me alone.

Did you decide to go?
Maybe go out with some friends afterwards and
toast to being a year closer to graduating?
Did you decide to ask the freshman who is only popular because of the clothes she wears and things she does?
Or are you staying home?
Are you all dressed up in a tux?
Possibly wondering what I'm doing and
what would it be like if you
had asked me?
Or maybe you're just getting off work and had decided to skip on Prom this year?
Are you walking onto the dance floor at this moment with a date or your friends and wondering if you should have asked
me instead-
while I sit here reading my book
and wondering if you're thinking of me?

I stand under the
shower head
letting water scald my skin.
Water burns my face as I hold it under.
What did I do that's so bad
that you leave me hanging?
You've shut down and don't wanna talk.
Maybe you think this saves us both the hurt.
Yet, your hesitating caused my heart to break a little more each day.
Forgive me babe.
Did I do something wrong?

We speed down the winding
highway.
You pass me.
I pass you.
We repeat this until
the straight strip lies ahead of our
headlights.
You go to pass me
but stay by my side.
I can't wipe the smile from my face
as I look to my left and see you grinning at me
not paying attention to the left side of the road ahead of you.
I kiss my fingertips
and flip you the bird.
You wink and finally pass me up,
revving the engine
of your American classic.