Feb. 27

Dear Journal,

It’s been a while. Is it proper for me to say I missed you—this? I’ll say it anyway. I’ve missed you. There.

I suppose I’ve been rather vague in my previous entries. That part of me is gone now, skin completely shed. I’ve outgrown it.

There is no dispute whether I am a boy or a man. I’ve seen battle, combat, death. I’ve seen men die before me. I’ve seen men die at my own hands. My hands are well-calloused now.  My skin has more scars than I can count, or at least I stopped counting a long time ago.

This past month or so feels like years, with training and going into combat and all. There’s only one reason I’ve made it this far:

Bryce.

He’s kept me sane, stayed by my side day and night. He’s funny and bright, if a bit impulsive. The way his eyes sparkle when he smiles, that’s brighter than the sun. Bryce says I’ve helped him out too, “kept him out of trouble”. I can’t say he’s wrong. There have been times when he’s damn near launched himself into direct gunfire to save another man, but I couldn’t let him; I needed him.

I need him.

-Adrian