Work Text:
There was no grave to kneel in front of.
No memorial to mourn at.
In the eyes of the world, he might as well have not existed.
Like a breeze on a summer day.
The only testament left of him were memories, soft and hard and bitter and impossibly sweet and beautiful and so so ugly.
Some were painful, some were so comfortable and warm that he could cry.
And he clung to each one of them like a life line. Desperate to keep each and every scrap of a life that had hardly had the time to live, and yet in that small amount of time had forever changed his own life. For better or worse, he would never forget him.
Ivan.
There was no grave to cry and tremble against, so he had to make do.
Under a tree in the meadow there is a large stone.
It is not engraved or carved in any way, no words tarnish the smooth surface. But it speaks volumes to him every time he sees it.
Red poppies grow throughout the meadow. Someone had once told him they represent remembrance and commemoration. They were once used to honor soldiers fallen in battle. It was fitting.
They’re similar to the ones he’d grown up with, but also unique. Here they seemed brighter, bigger, freer.
Beautiful.
He’d always found the flowers beautiful. It was something Ivan had teased him for.
You would’ve liked these ones, though, Till thought as he walked through the rows. Hands outstretched as if he could touch and feel each and every one.
They remind me of you.
The flowers stop at the base of a small hill. On the top a large tree shades the area, a sweet relief from the sun. And there under the tree is the stone.
A top the stone he is sure to always leave a fresh crown of poppies. Always made up of the best he can find. Ivan deserved the best.
Today he leaves a new, freshly made crown on the improvised memorial.
How are you, my friend?
He rests a hand on the stone before sitting down on the grass and leaning against it.
I have so much to tell you…
There was no grave to visit for hours on end.
No monument to pay tribute to someone so great.
But in a beautiful wide meadow under an old tree there was a stone.
With a string of red poppies crowning it.