There are so many things I miss about him. The possibility of life. Everything he showed me. It’s the little things that are stuck in my mind that randomly pop up and make my heart ache for him.
His house on base. The smell of the house. The layout. Waking up in his gorgeous, ultra-comfy king size bed with pure white light coming in through the windows. Being able to just lay for a minute, in silence because I know he has Chayce and Charlie. Walking down the hallway on the soft carpeting, seeing his uniforms hang in the closet. Seeing my clothes hang next to them, one day. Walking into Chayce’s room, glancing in his office. His space. Domain. Total control, of all aspects of his life.
Stepping down the stairs, marveling at the high ceilings. Coming down to tile floors with bare feet and thinking how I need to grab his socks. Seeing the whiteboard with all our writing, our games of tic-tac-toe. Walking to the front door, always open to the storm door, to look out at the peaceful, calm, refined neighborhood. Thinking, I can do this. I can stay here. I can live this life that the other army wives live. I can go running with him. Work on base, the library maybe? Go to Philly some weekends. Go deeper into Jersey on others.
I walk into the kitchen, see a cup of coffee waiting for me. Hozier in the background on the iPad. I clean up the kitchen, load everything in the dishwasher, wipe down the counters. Lean my hip against the counter, my fingers wrapped around his mug and I close my eyes and breathe in this new life. I walk out to the garage because I know the boys and Charlie are out there. Kiss him good morning, share a sip of my coffee. Snuggle Chayce because it’s still cold in the premature spring. Walk to the edge of the garage where the sun can touch me for the first time. Pet Charlie because she is begging for attention at my heels.
We drove a lot. I loved his truck. He always drove, and I was okay with that. I could look at him. Hold his hand. Replay Hozier because it’s us in the lyrics. In the music. In the beat and tempo. He never got mad. Never made me change it. Let me sing along because my happiness was the answer to all his dreams.
He showed off the base to me. I was so proud of him. I felt so important because he was so important. He was modest. He shouldn’t have been. He was impressive, and he couldn’t always see it.
I got trapped in his mind. But I didn’t want to escape. I was a prisoner to love and worship, fed with admiration and bathed in peace. Drank up the warmth spilling from his eyes. He twisted me up and laid me smooth. He flew me into the sky but kept me grounded with the strings of his laughter.
He showed me his heart and I can never unsee it. 8th wonder of the world. The sky and the stars and the aching earth. Mine. For me. He shared his dreams, played tug of war with mine. Together. Forever? Unforseeable. A true possibility, but only? The creation of life, brand new.
These are all the things I think about, in a fleeting moment. You.
He reflected me. He believed in me. He saw me as flawed and broken and beautifully so. Never a harsh critic, gentle reprimands. Soothing voice to lull me into his security blanket arms. Understanding mixed with brown to color his eyes. He let the universe pass judgement on me, my wrongs, my rights. Fingers only lifted to trace the solar system on the planes of my dancing skin. Soft. Easy. Needy. Don’t rush, feel his stories while I stare at the endless black of closed eyes.
He let me dream. He let me weave great tales of futures yet to come with words as soft and strong as spider silk. Saw the future in my delicate lace.
He let me cry. He showed me what it meant to be a soldier while I shuddered and broke even further. For the past, the present, the future. Little boy with bright blue eyes and his mommy’s smile on the other side of the earth hunting and falling. Premonition. Admiration turns to devastation like quicksand swallowing me whole. He is the light. He is the air. He is the dangling rope to pull me back to sunshine and delight. Arms like mountains, not to be moved by any force big or small. Foundations not meant to be crumbled.
Words do a poor job to describe the meaning and life I felt. Still feel. Dreams make you real, waking is losing over and over again. From light to darkness, my day craves the night.
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