excerpts

8.2

1 - allegro

allegro (v.) - gentle, paced, like walking

I met her in a hospital.

Classical music drifted in and out of the speakers, setting the tone to our romance. Slow. Simple. Sublime.

It's comforting to meet people in a hospital-you feel the same kind of sadness and loss, hurt and heartbreak- if they are here for other people.

But it's dangerous to care for someone that has others here for them. Then you know they my not have long. Still, you can't help but wonder about them, though many of your questions will remain unanswered.

When we first met, we were teenagers on the brink of adulthood. Too young to make any important decisions, too old to be carefree. So we worried ourselves with frivolous things- soulmates, fate, love- all things we could never control, yet meddled in nonetheless.

The world was cold. Different. You wouldn't know it if you hadn't lived it.

The War was the talk of the town, as well as the rest of the globe's. Gruesome headlines and death tolls spread across newspapers. Returned soldiers carried with them the weight of comrades lost in combat, stories they would leave untold, and a heavy conscience full of what ifs.

The war started when I was fifteen, still ignorant, not ready to face the world. It ended when I was twenty, a heart full of loss and regrets, of funerals and flowers, and her.

She was my antithesis.

I, a reckless, cold, selfish boy.

She, a beautiful, kind, strong woman.

We were such opposites that ice and fire didn't compare.

But fate is a funny thing.

It likes putting together the most undeniably volatile of persons- because they know the reaction will be catastrophic.

Should I write this book? It's just an idea I've been playing with :)