Last week Soap told you how much he loved daisies and today you are picking their pedals and letting the wind carry them away like it did him.

You always thought there'd be a light at the end of tunnel...not that you'd lose your light in one; yet, there you were: watching helplessly as the only sunshine you'd ever known, went out doing what he did best... protecting someone he loved. You can't even find it in your heart to be angry...Soap went out exactly how he wanted, not sniped across a field, not blown to bits by a landmine: protecting the team. He took that bullet for Price and you know in the depths of your soul: he'd do it again if he could. You aren't mad... you're in pain.

You aren't the only one though. Ghost hasn't been the same, Gaz hardly speaks anymore...and Price? He lost his sunshine too, a man he considered his son. Price has lost a lot of good men, but Soap... it was too sudden, it felt too small for a man with a personality larger than life...it was too soon. Soap could have lived a hundred years and it would have still been too damn soon.

So, you sit on this cliff side, under the stars: hoping, wherever Soap is, he gets the flowers you're sending him... when you smell the burning of a cigar...

Price: "Soap once told me, shooting stars are just angels, in the Heavens, tossing their cigars before God can catch them smoking..."