Disclaimer: the characters involved do not belong to me.

AN: this is from Blaise's POV, I don't know why but this just strikes me as Blaise. The other character, referred to only as 'love' is Neville.

Thinking back, it seems foolish. It was stupid and pathetic, a waste. But back then it was big, huge even. It dominated the lives of everyone, we were all affected. It was impossible not be.

People were either with you or against you. Anyone not on your side was the enemy; anyone on your side could be a traitor.

You lost the ability to trust. Even now, with the war over, I find it hard to trust. Everyone does. So long without being able to trust, without hope for the future, it hardens you. Once you've become like that, there is no turning back. You'll never be able to trust again.

The war took everything I ever had, took everything and everyone I ever loved. It stole the only person I could ever love.

And now all I have left is a memory. Many memories. The first time we met, when you firs said 'I love you', how you looked on our wedding day. I remember being late for class, sneaking away from our friends. I remember being late for class. I remember our first child.

I remember how you looked when you died. The way you looked at me, said you were sorry and told me you loved me. I remember the face of your murderer.

That face is burnt on my memory. I'll always remember that face. He's dead, but I'll never forget him.

I have no one to hold onto, no one to calm me. You were my lifeline and you're gone.

But so did everyone.

We are the survivors. The people left here, alone and unloved. We lived through the war, but all we are left as is fragments. Fragments of dreams, hopes and fears. Fragments of aspirations and half-formed ideals of a new world, a world after the war. Fragments of our former selves.

I used to dream you'd come back. When you were newly gone, but then I remembered your face as you died in my arms.

It felt so bad, it hurt so much. It felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest. I was wrong – my heart was ripped out when the light left your eyes.

I need to hold onto someone, to touch someone. I need to feel human warmth again. To reach out and touch someone.

But you were the only person I could ever love, the only person I was capable of loving.

I think of you and it reminds me of youthful ideals, of hopes and dreams. You remind me of day and sunlight. You remind me of the glitter of the stars and the glow of the moon. You remind me of warmth and beauty, of flowers in spring. New growth. But more than that you remind me of safety.

I've forgotten how it feels to be safe. I no longer feel the warmth of sunshine and the beauty of life. I feel cold and empty. Bitter.

But cold and empty cant last, love. I have to remember how it was before and who I used to be.

It's so hard to let you go. I've tried in the long years since you died. And they have been long, each passing moment since you left has lengthened to become an eternity.

I can barely remember the person I used to be. That person is separate from me, we look the same but we aren't. We're from two entirely different worlds. Maybe that person, the other me, is happy somewhere. Maybe he's off living the dream, fighting the fight for queen and country. Or maybe he never left for this war, he lived in a house far away from it, happy where he is. Living the life I used to live, the life I dream about now.

But for me, that's all it will ever be. It's just a dream. And eventually, we all have to wake up.

I can't change what happened love, as much as I've tried. They tell me I should move on, forget you. I don't want to forget you, not ever. I can't bring myself to forget you.

I have to learn to live this life without you beside me. Without you and our child, our beautiful little girl. You should have left me to fight, let me man the frontier.

You were the strong one. I was a fighter, a survivor. That is what I was made to be. You were strong in much the same way your precious plants were, hugely strong but so delicate. So fragile.

You couldn't have lasted through the war and remained the way you used to be. It would have killed your soul, it would have destroyed you.

So maybe, in a way, it was best for you to die. Not best for me, but best for you.

Everyone comes back from the war different – well everyone who survives long enough to come back. They come back changed – some come back beaten and bloody, some bruised, some scarred. I envy them, they are lucky that most of their scars are on the outside.

Some people come back different. They look the same, but they have changed. The war has taken its toll on them, killed them off a little bit and they are no longer the same.

I've lost bits of myself that I can never hope to regain. Pieces I never thought I'd miss until they died. And in their place is a multitude of scars. Outside I am whole, but inside I am covered in scars. Scars the shape of tears, for all the nights I've cried myself to sleep.

And even through all of this, I still miss you love. And your death is the biggest tear-drop engraved on my brain.