You know how it is, I know you do.”
Yeah, I know, but I can’t help the
stab of jealousy that twists through me because the 49th will have
him the next few weeks and I won’t.
Kissing me, he whispers, “I’ll be back
soon enough.”
I help him finish packing and at the
door I hug him tight, trying to burn his touch into my memory so
I’ll have it on the cold, lonely nights ahead. I want to remember
the exact shade of his eyes, the feel of his short trimmed hair
beneath my palms, the crush of his lips against mine, the way his
knee presses between my legs like a sweet promise that leaves me
aching for more.
“Go,” I tell him, pulling
away. I open the door before he can respond, and with the world out
there we can’t touch each other, we can’t kiss, and there are no
words to say all that needs to be said. “Be safe. Come back to
me.”
“You know I will.” With a
wink, he mouths the words, “I love you.”
I frown and nod; then he’s trotting