I am told not to. I still do. All the time.
I am calm until the last word is said and the lights go off. After that, I am alone. free to hypothesise about all the things that could go wrong. Yet I know it is necessary. It is in the name of justice, protection, of the good people in this world stopping the bad. But he got others to come and help. It instantly makes me think of other kinds of weapons other than fists. All I hear is a colossal bang in my ears, a white light and then I am seeing you fall, blood pouring from the gap opened by metal piercing skin. I see her knelt by you, screaming, trying to stop it. Trying to call help. I see the life fade from your eyes. I see you die.
I see myself getting a message, an email, from someone else, telling me that it went wrong and that you're not going to be calling me tonight, or any other night. That the love of my life is wiped away.
So, while I believe it is the right thing to do, the worst case scenario scares me to tears.
You are a fighter. I know that. Both in reality and in spirit. You give your all. I know you will be okay, but no matter whether we're 17, or 70, I'll still worry about you. Because that's what you do when you love someone. And I love you.