Love and the Great War :part 2

Walking ahead, he could now clearly see the pale yellow and crumbled walls of the hospital, with pine covered mountains in the background. For a moment,  he wanted to run to those pines and disappear in the bosom of the trees, away from the war, away from the trees, away from the din , away from pity. But then the thought of Marie came back rushing to his head, the only reason for his existence in this world which had long rendered him as a poetic and broken souvenir of the Great War. Marie was a woman of immaculate beauty, a woman whom any man can fall in love with. She had come as a part of Red Cross Mission , barely six months ago when Jean was on the edge of the cliff ready to be hurled in the abyss of pain and agony. She came as the light of the North star in the starless nights of his life. She steered him to the safety of the harbor. Each night she would come and listen to him in utmost attention while he told her about the war , the Greeks, Trojans, Paris, all about the world but himself. And she didn’t complain about it. She simply peered into his dry and pale eyes , as the candle laid the mountain of wax around it. It was on one such quiet night that he realized that she was the anchor while he was sitting on the deck of the ship enjoying the sunlight. The realization was almost mutual. The peace, calm and affection they felt in each other arms was something both souls yearned for. The smooth and silky hair was where he could spend a lifetime without contemplating. The honey hued arms, the velvet skin , the slow and gracious falling of the eyebrows on the eyes was something he was addicted to, like an opium hooker to opium.

He reached the door where the guard saluted him. He slipped into his bedroom and picked up a book. He waited for the sun to disappear, to slip again in the limbo of nothing and everything.