Steven G. Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote2013-04-06 01:16 am
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote2013-04-06 01:16 am
Entry tags:
a letter
Orpheus,
I want to tell you a story.
I went back to my world after we parted, and not long after I got on my motorbike and drove west. First I went south, to Florida and Alabama, to visit the graves of Dugan and Jones. And then I made the long drive to California, to visit the grave of Morita. I didn't stop except when I absolutely had to, because this trip wasn't about seeing. It was about doing.
Someday I plan to go to England and France. Two more graves to visit. Possibly three.
On the way back I drove south. One more stop to make.
Remember how I told you the worst part about Bucky dying was that I had no body to bury? It's still horrible, and I still miss him every day, but I feel like now that I've done what I said we'd do, we've seen the Grand Canyon together--or "seen", whatever you want to call it--I can lay a little bit of him to rest. (Not all. Never all.)
I camped on the rim of the canyon that night, and I had a dream that Bucky came to me. We talked. It was just like old times, only more so. He said something I've been mulling over--that all that matters is that the dance was good. I don't know if that's true, though. I waited a long time for the right partner--that wait had to be worth something, even if it only taught me patience.
No matter where I go, I'm a long way from home. And I can't really ever go home again, because time doesn't work that way. I feel it, most of the time, how far away everything familiar is to me, how many people I've lost and will never get back.
I don't want you to be another someone I've lost.
I don't know if I'm asking for forgiveness or even a moment of your time. All I know is, I love you and I always will. That's not a promise. That's just a fact.
Steve
I want to tell you a story.
I went back to my world after we parted, and not long after I got on my motorbike and drove west. First I went south, to Florida and Alabama, to visit the graves of Dugan and Jones. And then I made the long drive to California, to visit the grave of Morita. I didn't stop except when I absolutely had to, because this trip wasn't about seeing. It was about doing.
Someday I plan to go to England and France. Two more graves to visit. Possibly three.
On the way back I drove south. One more stop to make.
Remember how I told you the worst part about Bucky dying was that I had no body to bury? It's still horrible, and I still miss him every day, but I feel like now that I've done what I said we'd do, we've seen the Grand Canyon together--or "seen", whatever you want to call it--I can lay a little bit of him to rest. (Not all. Never all.)
I camped on the rim of the canyon that night, and I had a dream that Bucky came to me. We talked. It was just like old times, only more so. He said something I've been mulling over--that all that matters is that the dance was good. I don't know if that's true, though. I waited a long time for the right partner--that wait had to be worth something, even if it only taught me patience.
No matter where I go, I'm a long way from home. And I can't really ever go home again, because time doesn't work that way. I feel it, most of the time, how far away everything familiar is to me, how many people I've lost and will never get back.
I don't want you to be another someone I've lost.
I don't know if I'm asking for forgiveness or even a moment of your time. All I know is, I love you and I always will. That's not a promise. That's just a fact.
Steve