~*~disclaimer=normal!~*~I know I wouldn't write anymore but..I lied, I've
got so many ideas buzzing round my head I cant sleep (and that's juyst
really sad) so to keep my sanity, I'm keeping this going!~*~
I'm tired. I feel like a tired withered old man.
I'm lonely too, I'm all alone in this big Old empty house.
Each morning I have to walk past his empty bedroom, still exactly how he left it except now covered in an inch thick layer of dust. His clothes in a neat pile outside the walk in wardrobe, his bed unmade, his books slung across the floor, those porno magazines sticking out from beneath his mattress and that teddy that his mom made him sat on the windowsill. His friends teased him mercilessly about that when he was a kid.
I even miss waking up to a different girl at the breakfast table every weekend and trying in vain to remember their names.
He always tells me exactly what he was doing in his letters, sometimes if hes been busy the ink colour even changes. So I read them and then I write back, keeping the all important inner feelings hidden.
When my wife died, I think part of Hawkeye died with her, he changed that day. Everybody else thought he was just the same laughing joking but I knew that he'd built up a thick wall around his heart and that it'd take a very special person to break those walls and release the dam of tortured feelings.
When the 'police action' ends he'll come back, but he wont be my little boy any more. He stopped being my little boy the day he got on that plane. And I was left watching as part of my heart flew away.
But that's enough waffle from one old man. All I ever want Ben to know is that, I'll always be here for him. I'll be here when he cries, when he laughs, when he falls in love the only thing is..I wont be able to see it.
~*~I know this was only very short but hey if ya like it review and if ya don't like it.still review! Constructive critizim is always a huge help!~*~
I'm tired. I feel like a tired withered old man.
I'm lonely too, I'm all alone in this big Old empty house.
Each morning I have to walk past his empty bedroom, still exactly how he left it except now covered in an inch thick layer of dust. His clothes in a neat pile outside the walk in wardrobe, his bed unmade, his books slung across the floor, those porno magazines sticking out from beneath his mattress and that teddy that his mom made him sat on the windowsill. His friends teased him mercilessly about that when he was a kid.
I even miss waking up to a different girl at the breakfast table every weekend and trying in vain to remember their names.
He always tells me exactly what he was doing in his letters, sometimes if hes been busy the ink colour even changes. So I read them and then I write back, keeping the all important inner feelings hidden.
When my wife died, I think part of Hawkeye died with her, he changed that day. Everybody else thought he was just the same laughing joking but I knew that he'd built up a thick wall around his heart and that it'd take a very special person to break those walls and release the dam of tortured feelings.
When the 'police action' ends he'll come back, but he wont be my little boy any more. He stopped being my little boy the day he got on that plane. And I was left watching as part of my heart flew away.
But that's enough waffle from one old man. All I ever want Ben to know is that, I'll always be here for him. I'll be here when he cries, when he laughs, when he falls in love the only thing is..I wont be able to see it.
~*~I know this was only very short but hey if ya like it review and if ya don't like it.still review! Constructive critizim is always a huge help!~*~