My first love was Tony, the sweet blonde boy from Atlanta. I loved him fiercely. I lost myself in his smile and in his gentle blue eyes.
After two months of loving Tony I realized that he was a figment of my imagination, a fever dream brought on by the harsh conditions in the trenches and by the raging infection in my wounded calf.
Tony might have been imaginary, but our love was as real as anything; it still throbs gently in my heart, and in my calf wound, which never healed properly.
This is for him. This is all for him.