It was once quoted in text that something worth dying for is something worth living for. And it is only now that the meaning has become clear to me. In the wee days of November 2008, while in training on a military base in northern Virginia, I met a young lady, one of which shall go unnamed for this purpose only to be clarified later. She was a light skinned woman, 4 years my senior, but easy on the eyes. An indulgent beauty contrasted with the hidden desire to express herself, be heard, but not patronized. And for this reason I drew closer to her.

It started at as a brief acquaintance at a Burger King not that far from our position on base. She was wearing a baseball cap, short sleeved shirt, with a pair of orange and blue plaid shorts. Quiet. Content. She sat at a table alone, eyeing her phone that was neither vibrating nor ringing, unaware of my motion towards her as I sat down. She looked up. Eyes engaged. Focus locked on what was before her. A young man, 18, but a boy nevertheless. So we began to talk. And talk. And talk, until finally we decided, under much deliberation on my part, to go to the movies. Myself, attempting to use such an opportunity to “make my move”, as one would call it. As the day grew older and our hearts grew fonder I took a moment to make an advancement. The movie hadn’t gone as planned but then again they never do. And so I took her aside and as we walked down the corridor leading to the shops around the theatre, I looked at her and asked if I could be obliged with a kiss. To which she stopped in complete awe and with a face as pure and stern as a pitch fork she said in words I’m sure were as careful and planned out as they possibly could be. “I’m a lesbian.”

My heart fell. Now mind you after I got over the primitive shock of learning this harsh truth, I realized that SHE was just like ME, a boy…in a way. Crazy as it would seem we became best friends after this. Spending many hours together: prowling the beach, for women…shopping at the local malls, for women…renting hotel rooms, well I assume you get the point. But it was in those crucial times that our friendship grew stronger. When in the early months of 2009, when her mother fell ill and needed to seek medical attention, I was there. When after traveling over a thousand miles to visit my mother and then being thrown out on the street, she had been there to comfort me. When we were in the field, enduring those long nights of explosions and mortars and the n-teenth road marches to no mans land, we were there, together. Fighting side by side. Never losing sight of one another. And we became like…brothers.

Two months, 28 days, nine hours, and 32 minutes since we departed, my heart still clinches at the thought that she isn’t here. She’s in Colorado. And with a schedule that is beyond me or her, neither of us have talked in days. My days lonely, undesirable. I sit at my desk at home now, either bored or doing something reckless to keep my sanity: like poetry, or art, or riding my bike, or going to church, all those crazy things people just don’t do anymore. And at every second I reflect on the fact that she just isn’t here with me.

I am no psychologist, nor am I prophetic, but I know that man needs love. Needs to feel love. Be loved. Express…love. Therefore I ask is something worth living for, worth dying for? Because as man what do we have to depend on, but each other?  

 </span></p>