The war was over. Many have fallen. Some survived.
I walked around in a hurry, trying to heal as many as I could.
Maybe I was just trying to not think too much. To not break down when so many were in need of my help.
He left again. Wrong, he never came back in the first place.
Maybe it was better this way. We weren't meant to be from the start, were we? I knew that someday my heart would mend and that I would be able to love again. I would be happy. Someday my world would put itself in the right place by itself. I knew I would never forget. How could I?
I understood his decision. Fate was cruel to him. He would never find peace. Even if he would have stayed, he wouldn't feel home. He lost too much. Too many memory's were haunting him.
The same goes for me. I couldn't consider my birthplace as home anymore. It wasn't a place for me to forget. To heal.
Maybe we all had scars. We all just wanted to forget. There was nothing left of us. There was nothing left of me.
I knew I would leave after the wounded have recovered. I wouldn't be needed anymore. I hoped to find my place. A place where I belong. Where I'd feel safe. Where I could forget and start again.