I don't hate you for it.
For what exactly? There’s a lot I’ve done that I thought you hated.
Sure. And there are a lot of things I have done to you, as well, but that is not what I wanted to talk about.
Scarring up my face, is what I meant, specifically.
I do not blame you for it.
Oh… That.
(The guilt is awkward and heavy in his chest, extinguishing any chance for actually eating dinner later)
Ah- … I didn’ mean it. I know it’s a lousy excuse, but those years were some of the worse of my entire life, ‘n’ I felt angry and tired and miserable and powerless, and above all, unfit to be called Germany ever again.
Ah was tryin’ to keep it together just to keep going, so I didn’t talk about how I was feeling, not that it mattered much to you anyways. You were angry enough for the both of us, but damn it you didn’t half let me forget about just how pissed off you were every time I walked through the front door…
Tch. I don’t want to stand here and say ‘maybe if you’d have cut me some slack it wouldn’t have happened’ or play the blame game with you. I’ve had over half a century to think about what I did and bottom line is there’s no excuse for what I did.
I’m a man now, and I’m old enough to know I did you wrong. So…. ‘M Sorry.
(His hand moves to the back of his head, fingers tugging a little at the base of that ever-present ponytail with a bit of agitation. Why he thought this was a good idea, he’d never know--here he was getting exactly what he wanted, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to respond without sounding like a giant asshole.
Maybe that was his problem--he’d been so sure for so long that Lutz would throw this in his face that he had no idea how to respond now that he wasn’t.)
I could have cut you some slack. ...I could have cut you a lot of slack, your entire life. We both know that.
(We both know that, and yet here we are.)
It’s a curse. I think. Living like this, separate from human beings, feeling war like scars on our back and knives in our eyes. We try to emulate them. The way they live, the way they treat family and friends, but. The things we go through are so much... (He gestures with a hand, the train of thought mostly cut off due to losing grip of what he was trying to say, remembering all too clearly the image of himself shouting, shouting and ranting at the younger nation about the end of the war, about things that were far out of both of their control... He shakes his head, letting his hand drop.)
I forgive you for it. ‘Better late than never’, or something like that.
...Christmas is coming up. And I’d like it if we could spend it together this year.


















