It’s impossible to describe the separation.
It’s as if I’m being ripped in two with both parts remaining whole.
My body carries forward yet I remain behind. I can feel as myself but cannot feel as him, only remember.
Left behind, I watch helplessly as the man acts on impulse.
Armed only with hindsight, knots grow in my stomach.
It is a cold, miserable night.
His hands ache from rummaging through rain soaked rubble.
Fingertips feel worn to the bone.
Shivering, he sees access into the house. Surely there must be something of value to the group.
In a window, dim candlelight glows.
To the East, faint popping sounds of gunfire.