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Oct. 23rd, 2003 08:34 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
canpin.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mash_slashTitle: Home coming [like the Bruce Dawe poem. “they’re coming home…”]
Rating: mmm some language, would say PG
Pairing: I think it’s obvious, I don’t like to give things away
And so we went home. Pretended it was over. The correspondence may have continued but that undertone was no longer there. Like two mates. Best of friends throughout it all.
[And yet you never again mentioned that night, one time in Korea [‘a night in Korea’- like one of those terrible ballads of the time. Those I danced to on my wedding night...] When you were so upset. Missing that piss hole of a hometown you seemed to lust over like one of [or all] of the nurses. When you made my vows mean almost nothing to me, when you found your solace only in my arms.
Like that fucking awful love song that my wife seems to love. Solace in my arms. You always had the silver tongue on your side.
You write to me with tales of the homeland instead. ‘Best wishes to the wife’ you say, yes. Still now I know not whether you’re mocking me or simply meaning the best. I can show her these letters. Retelling everything we should in times of peace, with “don’t you remember when-”s, and “that time when we-“s belittling the page every time I care to glance at it. Telling her not to worry, we only got pissed there because we bloody well had to. But he’s sober now. Stone cold, and his words chill me.
[“I hate it here...hate my fucking country for doing this to me- like a bloody pawn in that boring as hell game- the bureaucratic arseholes who insist on wasting my life…5000 years old and still a player…” And so it went on. You were crying. I remember that. I’d never seen a man do that before. Not until the war, surely.]
You send me photos of your fishing expeditions. Lobsters and so forth.
[“Please- don’t do that. The talks are coming along just- relax ok. No not there- no- here”.]
My handkerchief. Peg embroidered it for me especially.
[“Oh shit I’m so sorry…shit”. More crying. Arm around your shoulders. Yes, as a mate. And murmurs in your ears, trying to comfort. Then the other arm. Friends certainly.]
I comfort my wife in the same way after a bad day. It’s natural, everyone knows that. I tell her now, “Sometimes crying is the only way. Let it go”. He’s standing at my shoulder then, the letters on the dresser.
Forehead against your cheek.
[You did it though. Promiscuous bastard. Fucking well went and kissed me. A nip on the cheek, bastard. (Remember that I was a married man…) Still am Hawk! And don’t you know it- so you tease me every time the mailman calls. Well, sorry that I was surprised. I’m married, alright? Why did you forget that?]
Why did I forget that. Surely it meant nothing. Your letters could be testament to such.
it was written in a creative flurry one afternoon, any feedback appreciated. sometimes you just need to let it out i suppose
Rating: mmm some language, would say PG
Pairing: I think it’s obvious, I don’t like to give things away
And so we went home. Pretended it was over. The correspondence may have continued but that undertone was no longer there. Like two mates. Best of friends throughout it all.
[And yet you never again mentioned that night, one time in Korea [‘a night in Korea’- like one of those terrible ballads of the time. Those I danced to on my wedding night...] When you were so upset. Missing that piss hole of a hometown you seemed to lust over like one of [or all] of the nurses. When you made my vows mean almost nothing to me, when you found your solace only in my arms.
Like that fucking awful love song that my wife seems to love. Solace in my arms. You always had the silver tongue on your side.
You write to me with tales of the homeland instead. ‘Best wishes to the wife’ you say, yes. Still now I know not whether you’re mocking me or simply meaning the best. I can show her these letters. Retelling everything we should in times of peace, with “don’t you remember when-”s, and “that time when we-“s belittling the page every time I care to glance at it. Telling her not to worry, we only got pissed there because we bloody well had to. But he’s sober now. Stone cold, and his words chill me.
[“I hate it here...hate my fucking country for doing this to me- like a bloody pawn in that boring as hell game- the bureaucratic arseholes who insist on wasting my life…5000 years old and still a player…” And so it went on. You were crying. I remember that. I’d never seen a man do that before. Not until the war, surely.]
You send me photos of your fishing expeditions. Lobsters and so forth.
[“Please- don’t do that. The talks are coming along just- relax ok. No not there- no- here”.]
My handkerchief. Peg embroidered it for me especially.
[“Oh shit I’m so sorry…shit”. More crying. Arm around your shoulders. Yes, as a mate. And murmurs in your ears, trying to comfort. Then the other arm. Friends certainly.]
I comfort my wife in the same way after a bad day. It’s natural, everyone knows that. I tell her now, “Sometimes crying is the only way. Let it go”. He’s standing at my shoulder then, the letters on the dresser.
Forehead against your cheek.
[You did it though. Promiscuous bastard. Fucking well went and kissed me. A nip on the cheek, bastard. (Remember that I was a married man…) Still am Hawk! And don’t you know it- so you tease me every time the mailman calls. Well, sorry that I was surprised. I’m married, alright? Why did you forget that?]
Why did I forget that. Surely it meant nothing. Your letters could be testament to such.
it was written in a creative flurry one afternoon, any feedback appreciated. sometimes you just need to let it out i suppose
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