It’s been eight months, two weeks, and five days since he shipped out and his deployment is nearly over.
And all I can think about is her. Everyday and every night.
The nights are cold and lonely with him not around. I miss his warmth beside me.
The days are hot as hell, the nights aren’t any better, and the locals aren’t too friendly at times.
I can only hope his comrades are watching his back, while he is doing the same.
Freaking Sam, always blabbing on about his “princess”, reminds me of the queen I have back home.
He was talking about a promotion before he left.
A promotion to Sergeant, who would’ve thought of that, I bet Darvon, he would’ve been proud in the thought of me leading my own team.
I do send him packages of books and whatnot; I’ve got to keep that scholar alive inside of that warrior. I can’t leave him uninformed while he’s over there.
It’s always nice to get a new book every week or so. My platoon truly loves to hear what book I got this time. I even read aloud the little notes she puts in the cover to them. That sure gets them going. Hey, whatever works keeps moral up.
He sends back so many of his sketches. Sketches of his men, the surroundings, even a few of the civilians. He’s even sent a few books in Arabic and I’m quite the learner.
Maybe sending those books wasn’t the best idea, now half of my letters are in Arabic, but it sure does help with the private stuff that I don’t want to share.
Yet, I can’t just stop thinking about him, his kind and playful mood.
The way she knows what to say, just at the right time.
The way he holds me as we lie together and read.
Her delicate touch on my face.
How he always tries to make me laugh, no matter how corny or childish it may be.
The way she smiles and says everything will be all right.
I even picked a small coffee addiction since he’s left. I miss making him coffee for him. Walking him up every morning with a kiss then his coffee. It usually turned into more than a kiss and a cold cup of coffee.
I really miss her cooking. Well, near perfect cooking. The nights we would experiment with new recipes and foods. We’d usually end up getting take-out and a movie.
So every night, when I stare at the stars before I go to bed, I can’t help to think about him. How is he, if he’s safe or not. I worry about him, because I care about him.
Every time I pick up my rifle, every time I step outside the wire, every time I put my self in harms way: I cannot help but to think about her. It’s only natural.
I can only hope that he and his comrades are alive and well right now. I want them all to come back safe. I just want to be with him.
“Though I walk through the valley of shadow and death, I fear no evil.” I just pray I am granted another day on this earth and to eventually be with her.