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~Gone~ GermanyXReader

She is gone. I let it happen. I always let it happen, so why should I be surprised?

Everyone eventually leaves, so this shouldn’t be a shock. No, not a shock, but certainly painful, nonetheless.

I shifted my weight in the chair that made my lower back burn like a dull fire irritated it. Scanning over the paperwork in my hands, I found my mind didn’t want to focus on the words on the page. I did what I was told to do, not what I wanted to do. Why didn’t she understand that? It was the same for her, wasn’t it? They didn’t give us choices, only orders, and war was a pretty heavy order.

You’re spineless! How can you want this to happen?

She left, because I’m spineless. She couldn’t take this anymore.

How could I do this to her?

She is gone, and I let it happen, again.

Slowly, I turned the chair around to face the closed window. A hazy sunset greeted me, and it looked like how I felt. Ah, I wasn’t much for poetry, but if there was a time to pick up a pen, now would have been the time. Maybe, then, I could have let her know how I felt. If she could read the words I could never speak, then she would know.

A thick blanket of night seemed to creep down from the sky, filling into the gaps of the trees. Darkness. It was there, much like me, and that’s all I could ever be. The darkness made it cold today, like everyday since this started. Somehow, I think the sun has forgotten how to shine here.

Somewhere it had to be warm.

Somewhere, there was no darkness.

She was on her own battlefields, and I knew, daring me to fight her, along with the others I went against.

Is that the only time I’ll ever see you? A dinner party of bloodshed. The talk of a gunshot is my only way to speak to you. Our music is just a machine gun symphony with death rattles of voices to carry the song. The dance floor outlined in barbwire and made of tank-tracks.

Ah, yes, if I could write a poem for her, that’s what it would be.
Although, I highly doubt a poem can bring her back to me. She’s been gone for so long.

Just gone, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less.

You’re gone, and I'll never have a hope of getting you back, will I?

You would rather shoot me between the eyes, then talk again. You blame me for things I can’t change, don’t you understand that?

Of course you don’t.

You make me sick! How can someone like you dare to let this happen?

I turned the chair back to face the desk, hunching myself over the paperwork, the pen slowly working over the special orders.

She was somewhere out there, so she wasn’t really gone.

Yet, I was, wasn’t I?

“Gone.”