She had feared, Clark, that your presence would haunt the farm as the ghost of Steve Trevor haunts Diana's mind. Instead, the presence of Clark Kent makes life burst from the seams. The sky, once weeping with rain, now seems to glisten from it. So, too, the flowers left at the grave of Lois Lane no longer seem to represent mourning.
As though grief in the presence of the sun is too impossible to allow.
For a long awhile, Diana does not speak. She does not dare to utter even a suggestion of a word, because these days, she is fearful to hear her own voice. Because, these days, she worries she sounds more like the battlefield than the woman who once entered it. She will never be cruel; she will never be cold. She is still a woman with dreams. But the difference from before is that her dreams of peace must live within a nightmare of war.
Her fingers reach for the tombstone, tracing over Lois's name. She smiles.
β Is it strange to say I know you're here, not because I know your smell? Not because I know how you sound? Not even because I feel your presence? But because I feel hers. β Because the love held by Clark Kent is so powerful that it can even make the dead seem alive.
Diana does not turn her face to look at Clark. She continues staring at the tombstone and the flowers; she continues thinking of Lois's face. β I will tell you a secret, old friend. War never asked me to die for it. That would be kind, β she laughs, an echo that spreads across the farm without humor but also without any coldness. β No. War has only ever asked me for one thing. To live long enough to resemble it. β
Still, Diana does not look up. β I never worried about that for you, Clark. With Lois, or without Lois. You were always too bright for the dark. But for loneliness? Well. Even stars may forget their light in an empty sky. β All of this to say, by the gods, she hopes you're doing well, Clark.
