His eyes…
So dull, so desperate, so lonely. They looked like the life had been scratched out - ripped off. And he looked tired; so very tired. I looked closer and I thought I caught a glimpse of hope, or love, or happiness; but at once it was gone, swallowed in his sea of sorrow. I knew they had loved once, they had lived once, they had felt once. What could do this? What could drain all the tears from such young eyes? What could makes scars incapable of healing? What memories lay imbedded behind those clouded orbs?
His cracked lips were silent but he said more to me than anyone had ever done. His eyes spoke for the both of us - he had survived the war; he had died during it.
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