Letter to a Soldier

Hey,

Sorry it’s taken so long to write, I kept trying but everything I wrote sounded rubbish.

I had a dream last night – haven’t smoked since you left. I dreamt everyone was chilling on a beach some place. But something wasn’t right; the old dial tone that used to mean lost connection was sounding somewhere. I looked to my left and saw half the beach steeped in cloud and looking like the opening to Saving Private Ryan. I woke suddenly, got out of bed and threw up everywhere and worried – which I know I shouldn’t because every thing I hear from you seems bored and hot. I hope you’ve occupied yourself with building a fan.

Right after I chunned, I couldn’t stop thinking about J. P’s first night – the night you promised the revolution would bring you back because you fight for the people. After we all came back and jammed at ours. You’d gotten so out of hand on the drink deals you sat in the corner in silence; until you chuked everywhere and suddenly started exclaiming you felt ‘like a new man’, as you literally punched a hole in the wall. Honestly it’s still one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen; and I appreciated the extra six months your broken knuckle gave us. Not gonna lie, I contemplated breaking something else, just to get another half a year to keep an eye on you. But you’re an adult and your own person, free to do what you want. I never saw your side of it until that night you cried and I cried and both our faces ended up covered in snot. But I get it: discipline, a reason not to destroy yourself anymore and a steady job with good benefits.

Yeah, I get it, but I miss going to the toilet at night and nearly falling in because you’d left the seat up.

I miss every couple of days when the sink would bristle with your revolting face fuzz; and the once a week I’d have to shout at you to clean your pubes out of the sink. I was always too annoyed to actually ask why they were there and I guess I might never know now.

Funny ol’ world init?

Anyway, everyone at St. Paul’s Palace sends their love. Everything’s pretty much the same accept they all hit the gym now, striving for the ‘bitches that come with sixes’ – credit to Tommy for that one.

I’ll keep you posted on how the revolution plans are coming, so you can come home and fight for us, beside us. It doesn’t seem fair you taking all the responsibility our respective freedoms.

Much love dude, much love.

P.s. I didn’t mention the thing because we were both scared, so it was nothing.

@poemsbyrose

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