Today I learned he was missing.
Missing. How does a soldier go missing these days?
I sit on the porch, on the swing, stationary, looking out over the bayou.
This is our home. All of my memories are woven around him.
“One more tour and then I’m yours,” he’d said, his fingers tangling with my curls. His cognac eyes soft, loving.
There’s no baby ripening in my belly. No hair locks to caress. There are just memories of us and a Garth Brooks song, my face planted against his neck, my arms holding him as close as I could. My dreams snagging on forever.
Would I feel it in my soul if he were gone? I feel nothing, the same. Everything.
The sun sinks, a spark of radiant fuchsia shears north. I know, as every cell in my body lights he’s still with me.
Sascha Darlington 2/26/2018
Categories: Flash Fiction