by Elizabeth Bren
I felt the feather light touch of his warm fingers tracing down my cheek. I tilted my head back as his fingers trailed down my neck. He looked up at me, his dark eyes held my gaze. I could feel the sparks from his eyes sending an electric current through my body, warming my very core. He cupped my face and I could feel his heat burning his handprint into my skin. He pulled our faces together, his forehead rested on mine and he rubbed the tip of my nose with his, so lightly as if it were made of porcelain. I inhaled the smell of his skin as he pulled me closer to him. A smell of soap with a vague touch of fresh coffee. However, the distant smell of gunpowder could never be washed away. I closed my eyes as his nose glided softly down my neck and across my to my shoulder. I sighed pure bliss as his warm lips kissed my shoulder and up my neck. His whispered “I love you” as his lips touched mine.
My eyes slowly opened to the dark and quiet room. The room beside me on the bed was cold and empty as it had been for a year. I curled up into a ball, desperately trying to rid the room of loneliness and it's shadow of death. You were there when your platoon needed you, and you became their hero. Did you forget I needed a hero too?
2 comments:
Quite the sad piece.
Its wonderful. I love the way you captured what had happened without really saying. I love this story, there isn't enough stories going around on how the effects of war damage the wives and family of the soldiers, and i think you described it perfectly, this deserves to win
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