The Promised World

This wasn’t the world we were promised.

When we were young, the world was in its prime. Technology felt like magic, and each day we shot towards a future that seemed so certain. I suppose the world was growing faster than we could keep up with.

Do you remember those simple summer sunsets spent at the park? Where we sat on the swings, and played like children again? It seemed so peaceful, our little bubble of happiness in the world, a break from the rigours of college and education. I always felt like it was the eye of the storm, our shelter from the world.

The last time I saw that park, it was reduced to rubble. I didn’t want to tell you at the time, to ruin that one kind memory we could share, that happy place we could retreat to in our letters.

I don’t know why I still write. It's been over forty years since you left, or rather, were taken. I was always so proud that you were to be a doctor, to help save lives. I guess neither of us noticed the signs, the stirrings of war and strife. We were so blinded by our own happiness to notice the divide, the changes in the air.

I finally made it to that place we always talked about. The hills are beautiful, and I have a small house, if it could even be called that. I think it used to be a tool shed, one of many on this farm. But I’ve made it work, and a roof over my head is better than none.

Oh, I shouldn’t talk about my hardships. Not when you had it so much worse.

The meadows are lovely, and I have managed to find myself a horse. It's a scrawny little nag, but it’s better than nothing. You were always better with horses than me. I know you wanted to be the one to take me horseback riding for the first time; I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that promise.

Where are you? I miss you. I know this letter will never be sent. You have been gone for years. I still write though. These letters are my most precious possession, besides the locket. You remember how much you laughed? The idea of putting our pictures in a locket together, so we could always have each other close. Do you still have yours? I still have mine. Time has worn the thing, the hinges barely stay together and the chain has broken. I sat with it clutched in my hand so often that I can almost feel its heart shaped impression against my palm whenever I close my hand. I try not to open it as often, I don’t want to break it, but some days the pain of your absence aches so deep I need to open it and stare at your golden curls, those brown eyes, always preserved in youth.

I wonder how you would look now? I don’t know if you would recognize me anymore. Nearly seventy is a long lifespan, much longer than most these days. At least, those like me.

When we joked about the ‘Haves’ and the ‘Have Nots’, I don’t think either of us felt like we were predicting the future. I suppose after the war started those who could buy safety, buy a good life, did so. The rest of us… well.

I suppose we will see each other soon, and I can tell you about the world in truth, not the lies I penned in the foolish hope that I could someday send them, and you would think I was okay.

The Truth. It’s hard. After the bombs dropped, after you were taken from me, after a large portion of the world was destroyed… Even if you hadn’t been taken, I doubt we would have been able to stay together. Human survival was too on the edge for a woman who loved a woman, or a man who loved a man to safely exist. I’d like to think we would have tried to stay together. But after you were taken, I left. I went out to see my grandparents, so I wasn’t in the city when the bombs came. So many died. I would have been among them. Sometimes I wish I would have stayed.

The news was horrible all around. It seemed that people died every day, a new tragedy created by the very technology that seemed to be our salvation. We will always be safe, they said. These weapons are for our protection.

In some places grand cities still exist. Ones who were built by the technology that nearly ended us all, one where it seems like magic protects them. Places where you buy yourself a spot, and live in luxury, untouched by the wasteland outside.

But for most of us, it's a hard life, making due with what we have.

I’ll finish this tomorrow.

I’m sorry my love. It's been days since I sat down to write this. I didn’t know how to continue what is most likely my final letter to you. I used up most of my remaining energy to make some final preparations.

I had a visitor passing through yesterday. A young mother and her child, barely off the breast. The last bomb hit hard, and they are coming closer. They had found one of the few vehicles remaining, but ran out of fuel on the edges of what I consider my property, not like anyone else has come to claim it. I could claim whatever I look at to be mine these days.

I digress.

I gave them my horse. She will at least help them travel faster. I also gave them the rest of the food I had stored.

Apparently they came from the outskirts of one of the cities. Laughter and music fill them, so far removed from our reality. Do they even know that people are dying right outside their walls?

A shame, what we have become. Part of me is glad you never witnessed what became of that world we thought we were owed. That promised future.

I have our locket in my hand. I can see your smile. It’s so strange these days to look down, see your youthful face in my weathered hands. I wish we had that future we wanted. I wish this had never happened. I wish we could have had more time.

I can hear the war coming close again. It would have been better to keep moving onward. I am far too old for that, in truth. I never expected to make it this long without you.

Did I tell you I fashioned myself a swing in the old tree out front? It’s a simple thing, just a plank of wood with a rope through it. Took me at least a dozen tries to get it strung up. But I have a tree-swing, and it reminds me of the good times.

There is a glow on the horizon. I love you. I hope I will see you soon. Until then, I will wait.

The sunset sure is beautiful tonight.