Beyond the ashes

19 October 1945

They said we won.

But all I see after the war is sadness and how the world has become greyer than it was before. It feels like people's happiness has simply burned away and all that's left are the moans and cries of ashes.

Even if I wanted to see the world the way it was before, I couldn't, because it feels like someone ripped my mind out of my head and put it in a blender, playing with my happy memories.

Only the sad ones are left, because what is similar comes together, and all my nightmares sit piled up, somewhere in a dark corner of my mind and I hear their whispers every night, calling me to the deluded hell.

Even sunlight doesn't feel the same as before, when all my worries weren't: "where am I going to hide from the soldiers now" or "where am I going to get food?", before when the rays once emerged from behind the clouds and caressed your frail hands, you immediately felt the caring and inviting warmth of spring.

My wounds are all open, exposed to the world, because the bitterness in my eyes can be read better than books used to be read, and I feel their looks that criticize and judge me when they see me walking down the street, looking for my purpose.

It would have been great if I still had my old friends, but cruel fate didn't dare to leave them either.

And I sit here, under the candlelight, which would also go away if it could, and I think about how lonely and monotonous I and my life are. But I don't feel like doing anything about it, because the last bit of sparkle in my soul is gone.

And those blue eyes come to mind.

My dear blue eyes, which I once loved so much and I couldn't imagine a morning when I would wake up and not see them at least once that day. The blond, curly hair that slid past their face, and reached their shoulders, sparkled impeccably in the moonlight, as we sat and talked about the meaning of life.

And I wonder now, with pain in my chest, why I let this wretched war separate me from the love of my life, whom I loved so much that I could not imagine a future without that face.

But I do not remember exactly what happened, the story and the attempt to refresh my memory will be a burden for me, but, my dear friend, for you, my dear, I will exhaust my strength and I will do my best to get a clear picture of my past.

So, I blow out the candle flame, letting the frightening darkness of the night flood my tiny room, I blink once or twice, to adjust my eyes to that darkness, then I look for the last time tonight out my window, at the silver Moon that has no worries, because she is not involved in any kind of conflict and she has no enemy to argue with and to be afraid of.

Then I remove the blanket from the bed and nestle in the place where I felt safest since the last events of this year and I close my eyes and hope that I can clearly see the image of the face that I once loved so much.

Until I let myself be overcome by the sluggish sleep and fell asleep, in the piercing silence of this night.