And again.
And again.
Until my throat burned. Until my lungs screamed.
Until the sun began to rise.
But he was gone.
Gone like he had never been there at all.
No body.
No sign of a struggle.
Just blood. And absence.
I searched until my legs gave out.
Until I collapsed in the dirt, shaking, choking on something that felt too much like grief for someone I had only known for hours.
But it didn’t matter.
Because those hours had changed something.
They had stayed.
Buried deep.
Like shrapnel lodged too close to the heart to remove.
And every night after that—
I replayed it.
Every word. Every look.
Every promise he had made in that quiet, broken voice.
“I’ll find you again.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“We’ll be together when we’re grown.”
Lies.
Or maybe—
Just things a broken boy needed to believe.
And now—
Here he stood.
Alive.
Not a boy anymore. Not even close.
