July 4, 1776

I almost died today. Maybe I did die. After all, I am a new person starting today. I'm now an independent country and there is nothing England can say about it.

Oh how I've always relished the thought of being free. Not that I'm ungrateful or anything. No, never. I am being honest when I say that I owe everything I have to my no longer mentor, guardian, and, more importantly, brother. He made me what I am today, a free man. But he doesn't want to see that, he pretends he can't and says that I'm an ungrateful brat. He has no idea.

As I was saying, I almost met my end in the physical sort of way. My hands still shake as I write this; the thought sends shudders through my body. He almost killed me, England that is. The strangest part though is not the fact that I am still alive but the question of why.

He had me right where he wanted me, defenseless, exposed, already to pay for the wrong I had done him all those years we had been fighting that damned war. I tried hard to be brave, to not cry, to not close my eyes. I tried, or at least acted, brave. I would watch my end with expecting blue eyes. But it never came. For some reason, England did not do what he had swore to do at the very beginning. Instead, he put me through something worse than death, he made me watch him suffer. He just broke down in front of me, curses slipping through his lips like the tears that mingled with the rain, coming from those sad, torn, emerald eyes. I've always loved those eyes.

What have I done? I wish he would have killed me instead of put me through that kind of hell. From the look on his face, I could tell he had thought I had turned on him like the rest of the world had done to him so long ago. How could I do that to anyone? Especially him of all people. Even if he couldn't have killed me, I wish he would hate me, but he never could. He can try, but I know my England and he could never do something like that to me. Why, I don't know.

I feel sick. I keep having to remember why I did this; so I could be free. I just wanted to be something England could be proud of, something to look up to and say, 'that's my boy'. But he can't, he has too much pride and he will hide any good feelings from me. I am dead to him.

Is it right to say that I hate myself? I hurt the only person that I ever truly loved. And now I turned him against me. Am I a fool for wanted so much when I already had everything I ever really needed?

No, I am proud of what I have done. I will not regret all this for his sake. I've sacrificed way too much to do that to my people. And I promise, I will never go back to England, never. I'm going to make him be proud of me, to be happy for me. Whether or not he wants to be.

I see fireworks outside my window. They are a beautiful reminder of all the pain I've had to endure, my people had to go through. I feel a tear well up in my eyes. These are my people, this is my land. I am free. It feels so good to be able to say that.

I am free.

I am free…

Then why does it taste so bittersweet?

I know one day, the hurt is going to subside. I'm not saying it will go away forever but just, numb out, not feel as bad. Hopefully it won't take too long and that England will be blessed with this too, if it is a blessing that is. That maybe we can see past this and be able to go back to how things were. Not exactly how they were, it just can't, but back to the part where we still loved each other. My birthday is always going to be a painful scare for him. A wound that I keep rubbing salt into every time my birthday comes around. It will never heal, at least not properly.

I know this sounds strange, but I crave his approval as much as I desire freedom. He means the world to me and I think I lost him. What if things will never get better and I just sacrificed my closest friend?

I think I killed him.

I am free.

I think I killed him and that he'll never forgive me for that.

Happy birthday to America, the land of the free, home of the brave.

-America