Regret.
Awakening the day after the war was over,
Glancing up from my cot to see if he was awake too.
He wasn’t there.
I regret it still.
Even today,
I am married with children now,
Living in a suburb like every other family,
The pinnacle of normalcy at the time
I regret it every morning.
The smell of scrambled eggs and candied bacon,
Instead of dry meat and vegetable rations.
The sounds of children squealing and giggling,
Instead of men crying out and watching themselves slowly die
As the nurses bandaged their wounds.
Heading off to the daily post,
Instead of into the front lines to fight.
I would trade it all to not regret.
I remember the smell of gunpowder,
The ringing sound of marching along the grime covered earth
How I watched firsthand how easy it was to die.
But he was there,
And I would trade it all to go back to him.
I remember the day I had a bullet in my leg,
How fast the blood was pooling under me.
But he was there,
He saved my life.
I remember the evening he got deathly sick,
How I gave him all of my own rations to keep him alive.
“You can’t die on me now,” I had said.
And he didn’t.
I remember the cold September night that we were told,
Japan had surrendered
The war was finally over.
We embraced, and I almost told him.
But I didn’t.
I regret not telling him the truth,
How much I cared about him,
Now that the war is over,
And I haven’t seen him in years.
I know that he’s still alive,
I think I would know if he did die.
I think about him, almost every day.
But all my thoughts of him,
Are regret.