我没有。我怕你转过头来，我会在你眼睛里看到某种我承受不了的东西。）
Butnow,aloneinthisroomthatstillsmellsfaintlyofyou,IfindIhavemorecourageonpaperthanIeverhadinperson.
（但现在，独自站在这间还残留着你气息的房间里，我发现自己在纸上比当面要勇敢得多。）
Iimagineushavingdinnertogether.Arealdinner.Notinawarzone.Somewherewithcandlesandwhitetableclothsandabottleofredwinethatnobodyhastodrinkinahurry.Iwouldsitacrossfromyouandlistentoyourstories—thebattles,theocean,themountainsyou'vecrossed.Iwouldn'tinterrupt.Iwouldjustlisten.Andwhenyoufinishedtalking,Iwouldreachacrossthetableandtakeyourhand,andyouwouldn'tpullaway.
（我幻想我们一起吃一顿晚餐。一顿真正的晚餐。不是在战区里。是在一个有烛光、有白色桌布、有一瓶不需要急着喝完的红酒的地方。我坐在你对面，听你讲你的故事——那些战斗、大海、你翻越过的山。我不会打断你。我只是听。等你说完了，我会伸手越过桌子握住你的手，而你不会把手抽走。）
Iimagineuswalkingoutsideafterward.Lookingatthestars.Youwouldknowthenamesofeveryconstellation—I'msureofit.Youwouldpointattheskyandtellmest
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