I wake up in his arms again. I don't want to wake him. He leaves today and I can't bare it. 'Just another minute or two.'
I think and curl my head into his chest. I feel his broad chest rise and fall. I hear his slow, deep sleepy breaths.
He holds his arms tight around me.I feel the covers shift and I'm scared he'll wake up.
He doesn't and I continue to admire him. His eyes look so calm. I can only imagine what he has seen.
What he has experienced. His tattoos are bold in meaning and it isn't until now, in the still morning light,that I notice he has a new tattoo.
"Staff Sargent Johns"
and a picture of a bird holding a poppy. Its beautiful. The attention to detail is phenomenal. I think the name.I think Kyle and how he didn't come home.
My eyes well and I curl into him. Letting my tears fall and catch his shirt. I couldn't lose them both. Not within weeks of one another.He toughened his grip but didn't wake up.
It's only 7 and he leaves at 10. I battle letting him get up early or trying to keep him asleep. I don't have much time, he wakes up and looks at my sodden eyes.
He pulls me closer to him and I cry. I break down and I don't hold back. He plays with my hair and calms me. He knows why I'm upset.
After a few minutes, hours or years he kisses my forehead and pulls the covers off of him.I involuntarily peel away my arms. He opens the tall, wooden wardrobe and pulls out his uniform.
I hate the sight of it and I look away. He leaves and I'm alone for now. I don't want to go downstairs but I hate being alone.
I sit up and look around the room. A pair of Brown boots by the door. An open tin of polish on the desk next to some twisties and a necklace. I stand and walk downstairs.
He's made himself coffee and me tea.He's ironing his uniform. Pulls his eyes to me with "sorry" written over them. I pick up my tea and walk away.
He puts down the iron, walks toward me and puts his arms around me. I feel him tighten his grip, I feel his heartbreak.I pull away his arms reluctantly and move to the living room.
He moves back to the board and there's nothing but pain and silence as we sip our drinks.