Cleaved at the front(A.Zaak) Once dying, and they lay our heads deep in the ground, will our knowledge and information become disposable or recyclable?
Are our love and passion becoming recyclable, moved from our heart to the earth when they lay our bodies?
What is the fate of all non-material components of a person inside the final destination?
Does the earth somehow process a person's experiences, emotions, and memories once buried?
The intellectual Lieutenant asked himself such questions while sitting alone (drawing) his memoir at sunset in his tent. It was calm at the war front in the last few days.
As he couldn't answer his peculiar queries, which worried him a bit, he bowed the other way, realizing her shadow had gradually turned into a faded dream while he was moving from battle to battle and from a wound to wound.
He needed to restore her image into the muddy trenches of the war.
During the times of serenity in the front, he used to recall her holographic image into his tent. It was like a booster because she was his great safe bet.
As for her, with his news running exceedingly thin, her world has lost its glory. "Who wants to live in a world without September," she wrote to him, referring to his birthday month.

*****

A hologram imagination and her letter sparked him in the darkness. He requested a flash leave to go to the capital to auspice their certainty.
She almost fainted when he, with his new rank as First Lieutenant, gently tapped on her shoulder as a bid for attention since she was busy reading updated medical instructions in the hospital.
He, too, almost fainted, seeing her perfect face under a blue medical cap.
The First Lieutenant spent the four hours he had with her in the hospital canteen. He told her all she wanted to hear, and she told him all that he needed to know, and that was it.
They revitalized each other and stayed in their mutual soul.

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* Image from Congress Library:commons.wikimedia.org

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