Dear Azaire
France 1916 To Azaire, Tenderness encapsulated in an icy cavern, a tiny glow worm surrounded within a sphere of darkness. This is how you made her feel Azaire. Years of self-pity. Can you even comprehend being defenceless? Living in fear? No, I couldn’t too at first, after everything you put her through, but lying here four feet underground, living in fear... comes naturally. The shadow of apprehension ignites a catalyst for me to find myself amongst the greatest heartbreak.
Let’s switch roles Azaire, at least try to imagine a miniscule part of what I’m going through. How would you feel if everywhere you looked, blood of soldiers were dispersed through the air, as they were pulverized from the blasts. Men around me begging for death, in slow, silent chants. Anticipating every moment in case the earth falls in and crushes you, leaving you to witness a slow and painful death. Looking up at the last ‘beautiful’ scenery, is the sky of metal artillery, before waiting for what could be your last moments of in the trenches, this is what you should be living, you out of all men deserve this. Having every freedom as a man you decided to abuse, a pure woman, is it her fault she cannot conceive. Every part of me misses her Azaire; i turn numb when I think of her, within this state and place she is always in my mind, my only motivation. This is a letter to you to fathom what real love consists of. Everything I yearn for is, Isabelle. You have mere significance to a vulture, having seen many of them peck away at the dead corpses on the battlefield so shrewdly, there is also darkness to your soul, but you could be capable to love. This is what you failed to express to Isabelle. Still reminiscing over the first time her beauty caught me, she was there in front of me her strawberry chestnut hair, caught and held up off her face so elegantly, she wore a white lace blouse with a dark red stone which met at her throat. Her eyes glistened; there was so much beneath the
Let’s switch roles Azaire, at least try to imagine a miniscule part of what I’m going through. How would you feel if everywhere you looked, blood of soldiers were dispersed through the air, as they were pulverized from the blasts. Men around me begging for death, in slow, silent chants. Anticipating every moment in case the earth falls in and crushes you, leaving you to witness a slow and painful death. Looking up at the last ‘beautiful’ scenery, is the sky of metal artillery, before waiting for what could be your last moments of in the trenches, this is what you should be living, you out of all men deserve this. Having every freedom as a man you decided to abuse, a pure woman, is it her fault she cannot conceive. Every part of me misses her Azaire; i turn numb when I think of her, within this state and place she is always in my mind, my only motivation. This is a letter to you to fathom what real love consists of. Everything I yearn for is, Isabelle. You have mere significance to a vulture, having seen many of them peck away at the dead corpses on the battlefield so shrewdly, there is also darkness to your soul, but you could be capable to love. This is what you failed to express to Isabelle. Still reminiscing over the first time her beauty caught me, she was there in front of me her strawberry chestnut hair, caught and held up off her face so elegantly, she wore a white lace blouse with a dark red stone which met at her throat. Her eyes glistened; there was so much beneath the