bucky’s words

to steve, my most beloved

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i do not want to ever love you like a habit, steve. i want to love you like a revelation.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

july 4th, 1941

there is hesitancy and fear and the absence of words, and then there is this: steve was born in summer. steve was born in summer and gave it a meaning. steve was born in summer under the greatness of the sun. steve was born in summer. of course he was.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i remember natasha. i remember how you would drag her along when you visited me in wakanda. she gave warm looks, reassuring smiles. you were brighter when she was around. everybody you loved, i was bound to love too. and i believe she was my friend as much as she was yours.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i remember how the soldier felt on the helicarrier. he had expected a fight, was promised adversity. this was different. it grabbed something at the back of his throat. confusion. home. and the soldier thought the man had blue eyes filled with tears and wasn’t fighting back.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

@wxrbucks @brooklynbvcky @blondednightss i do

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i asked you once “would you hate me if i wrote about you?”. you said you didn’t know what there was to write about. i set your tenderness on paper, traced the contours of your kindness. suddenly, i was made for writing you.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

when you had nothing, you had me. and it will keep my hands warm and my feet steady, to know that in the midst of nothingness i still stood where no one else would. by your side.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

it’s you then it’s me but it was once us. you’re fading, my love. there are forces we cannot comprehend that tear our souls apart, extend them beyond the infinite, beyond the universe. yet the death of a star was pale compared to your goodbyes.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i pause and remember your face. i try to, at least. you’re fading, you’re smoke. you remain in my maybes and goodbyes. you linger, everlasting, somewhere between the chaos and the past. and i remember your voice. i try to, at least.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

there’s a sound in the distance and the feeling of pressure. always. louder. it’s like my head is made of brutality. but you’re here. or you once were. there are days where i can’t tell the difference

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

there were moments where my heart sank in my stomach. i realized we couldn’t last till the end of this world. be it sickness, war or people, something was destined to end us. so i cried silently and the only way i knew how: with a heart on my sleeve and a steve on my mind.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

this and that and everything in between was made of you. it was you. the silence and the loudness of my life. i’ve listened, in the calm hours, time and again to your heart. and still, today, i wake up and wait. i long to hear a steady beat. there is nothing. it’s always quiet

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i often fear that my mind will give up on me again. it did on many occasions. so i hold onto self-evident truths: the sun rises in the east. sam is my friend, the only one still by my side. aim for the jugular if you can. steve is gone. i miss him.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

there is this possibility, slim but existent, small but persistent, growing into my belly. the one thing i have prayed against. i’ve bargained with a hundred gods and a thousand more devils for Death to take me before him. but now he’s here. and i fear he will die before me

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

september 26th, 1943

i had expected my demise from this war. i had envisioned the horrors that would greet me. but nothing, in this life or the next, could have prepared me for this. for steve, fighting beside me, and the suffocating thought that every bullet is meant for him.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

you didn’t fight back. it saved both of us. because it felt wrong. the cold and the hand on your throat and the quiet eyes. it was wrong. there was no fight. and the soldier was programmed to be met with resistance. instead, all he found was you

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i remember how the soldier felt on the helicarrier. he had expected a fight, was promised adversity. this was different. it grabbed something at the back of his throat. confusion. home. and the soldier thought the man had blue eyes filled with tears and wasn’t fighting back.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i felt like crying, the day you showed up in azzano. your descent in the valley of the dead had begun. i could picture you lifeless, blood decorating your skin, lying on the battlefield. your eyes would look at the sky. still. gone. your end as much as mine.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

your smile, steve, was inevitable. it was gleaming and tender for only me to see. it was a sight the world would once envy me, that much i was sure of. and life proved me right

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

but i failed. you ended up with a shield and mortal weapons as fists.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

it always surprised me how much of a complete disaster you were with your hands, except for anything that concerned art. your fingers could embody delicacy when they held a pencil or a paintbrush but would reveal their potential of destruction when it came to anything else.

[bucky’s words @barnesletters]

i had promised myself to never let you get close to a screwdriver. or a hammer (well. if i had known). let alone anything remotely more dangerous. you weren’t even able to get your tie right.