By Maria Okumura
I sit comfortably on a long and open couch made for more people than just me.
Staring out the window into the dark and shivering world, hidden in a layer of cottony snow.
I sigh, and avert my eyes momentarily, rubbing at them, before returning to the window.
The wait seems endless, as though I've been here a thousand times before and will be here a thousand times again.
Finally light blinds me as your tires roll you up the driveway.
I smile, expectantly.
The car stops, the engine is silenced and the car door slams.
I rush to the door, abandoning the window, and swing it open with a passionate fury.
But its not you.
Two men stand before me, both wearing uniforms and somber expressions.
I don't need to hear them say it.
I don't want to hear them say it.
My chest burns and my lungs stop receiving air.
I can feel the stinging at my eyes as I try to gulp in a breath, and some composure.
But I can't.
The growned is hugging my knees before I even notice it.
I can hear muffled voices talking to me, but I don't understand.
The only two things I can understand right now are these;
He's gone and never coming back.
And I'll always be waiting for him.