December 17, 2014
Steve,
I still don’t remember everything, but I remember some things. I remember sleepless nights in an apartment in Brooklyn. I remember schoolyard fights, seeing you get beaten down the first time we met and watching you stand up again, nose and cheek and knees bleeding from the asphalt, facing the bullies head-on. Whether it was bravery or stupidity or both, I don’t know. But I remember being drawn to you, this tiny kid standing up to about three other kids twice to three times his size and I remember finally walking up and beating the daylights out of all of them before telling them to scram, to pick on someone their own size. You were bleeding all over the place, on yourself, and on me, as I helped you walk back home. I don’t know what it was then, but I remember that was the moment I decided I’d always be by your side, that I’d never leave you.
I failed to keep that silent promise. I failed you, and now, years- decades- later, I’ve lost myself and there’s blood on my hands again, only this time it isn’t the blood of bullies. It’s the blood of innocent people. It’s your blood. I’ve killed too many people, Steve, for you to ever forgive me, but if you do I guess it would be nice. I don’t expect it from you, but it would be nice. I remember the countless times you forgave me back then for the smallest things. I don’t even remember what kind of things they were, just that you’d forgive me for them, and that it meant the world to me that you did. But I don’t deserve your forgiveness now.
Like I said, I still don’t remember everything. But I remember how incredible it felt to be your friend back then. I think the most crucial thing I remember about being your friend was how much you seemed to light up my world, even when you yourself were struggling and sick and whatnot; it was the way you never gave up, on anything, the way you were stubborn enough to keep on fighting, the way you would tough it out. It captivated me. I remember the blue of your eyes like the sea or the sky, I remember the yellow of your hair being bright like the sun, and the white of your smile like clouds. I remember how you looked at me like I was your favorite thing in the world. And I remember how much I loved you. No, not like a brother, the way the history books and the biographies and the Smithsonian Museum exhibits make it out like I did. I mean I loved you, like you were the goddamn sun and I was the guy who flew too close and fell to his death because he loved the sun so much. I mean, that is basically what happened with us, right? I fell to my ‘death’ back then because I was following you- you were my sun and I was following your light by following you into combat. I died for you. I died serving under you. That part the history books got right.
But I died for you not just because you were my brother in arms, or my friend. I died for you because I loved you back then. And I’m certain I love you now. In the midst of everything I’m trying to figure out is real and true or not, all the memories and thoughts I’ve been sorting through in my mind lately with your help, I know that much is true. Which is why it kills me knowing that I ever hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted them to turn me into a weapon the way they did, use me the way they did. Being Hydra’s attack dog was a fucking nightmare, Steve, a nightmare that still gives me nightmares now. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, or anyone else’s.
I love you, but sometimes I still feel like a monster even in my own skin and you deserve so much better. So I want you to reread this, then reread it again, and know that I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for loving you because you’re too good for a broken man like me. But I can’t help loving you. I've always loved you, and I promise you I always will even when I don’t love myself.
Yours,
Bucky