I have lived a long and fairly prosperous life, though over
the years I have seen a lot of things that a man, much less a boy,
should never have to witness. I have survived. I always survive. I
don't know how, but I have, and I will continue to do so even now. I
must survive the pain, once more, of sending another loved one into
the arms of Immortality. True, I have seen many men die horrible
deaths. I have even, frequently, been the reason those men died such
deaths, but nothing comes close to the pain of watching a soul mate
slip into the depths of eternity. Twice. Twice I have stoically
stood by as a piece of my heart was taken from me.
I buried Duo less than eight years ago. It seems like just
yesterday that we were young, beautiful, and looking forward to an
eternity of life together. We did have that life, 51 years of it to
be exact, 51 years of happiness together. We shared our best days
and our worst days, and we loved each other fiercely, until we were
forced to part.
Duo was 66 when he died of congestive heart failure. Still
so young, yet his eyes were a thousand years old, aged by as many
horrible things as I had ever seen, maybe more. We were both
children of the war. All five of us were. Now that's all over.
The war has become nothing more than a strong, yet somehow distant
memory. I have other things on my mind.
Trowa, he always swore that we would be together, someday,
and he waited patiently for that day for over 40 years. In the end,
he was right. I did eventually love him like he wanted me to, and we
were together like he always said we would be, even if for only such
a short period.
I wonder what Duo thinks of my learning to love Trowa? I
hope he approves. I'll never know, though, will I? What I do know
is that Duo was my foremost love, and I never have stopped caring for
him. He was, still is, everything to me because above all, Duo was
a good man, a loving man. He was the man I chose to be with for the
majority of my life. Trowa was the same good man, but I think I just
loved Duo first. However, even though I may have broken Trowa's
heart, he still insisted on loving me. He still watched and waited,
close, but from afar. He was present when I married Duo, and no
matter how much it must have hurt him, he was there to raise a glass
and wish us well. He was there to celebrate when Duo and I bought
our first home, had our 25th anniversary, and finally retired. We
grew old together. He was also there when I laid Duo to rest in the
That was the last time all five of us were together. Four watching
on the deck of the ship, as one slipped into the depths of the water,
into the great womb of the Earth. To be buried at sea was Duo's
wish. How could I not grant him such a thing? He loved the vastness
of the ocean as much as he loved the vastness of space.
Today, I laid my dear Trowa to rest, after only six years.
It was a space burial, of course. Being a child of the colonies, he
would want nothing less. It was a small affair; only Quatre and I
were there to see him off on that last great journey. We really had
no friends outside of our own little circle of five, and Wufei, he
was too ill to come. As three friends became two aboard the ship
from which Trowa's body was jettisoned, so the survivors will soon
number only two, and though I may regret Wufei's absence at the
funeral, I'm sure he will not have long for such feelings of
remorse. I think he's already aware that he'll be joining Duo and
Trowa, wherever they are, soon enough. Quatre and I will be there
for his burial, and I at Quatre's.
After seeming to face so many deaths so coldly, I may appear callous
to those who don't truly understand my heart, and those that have
been privy to it are very few indeed. After all, I am not a very
open person. If I were a book, my pages would most certainly be
sealed. Duo and Trowa were the only ones who could ever pry into the
deepest passages of my soul. Quatre and Wufei have gotten to know me
fairly well over the years also; they know that I mourn the loss of
those I love in my own way. That is all that matters. I do not cry,
yet my soul weeps openly deep within. I am a selfish person, I know,
to mourn only my own losses, my own empty heart, and my own
loneliness. Though a million forces bind the universe, I remain
remote, waiting to feel the pull of those special two who once filled
my life with happiness.
Separate and solitarily, I will continue to write the lonely story
of my life until the day Death comes to claim me as well. I know I
will be the last to pass into the arms of Eternity. After all, I am
a survivor, first and foremost, no matter how long and lonely my
story drags on.
. . . And then there will be but one.
I am the last, and I will die alone and forgotten, just as I
b. AC 180
d. AC 277
Because I could not stop for Death-
He kindly stopped for me.
* exert from Emily Dickenson's untitled poem, #712