I love you, please come home to me

A last touch from you.

The taste of your lips,

Your hands on my neck,

Mouth on my skin,

Breath in my ear.

Your words,

Your soul, a beautiful ghost that echos in my head over the screaming of a winter that blows frozen needles on our long walk across the tarmac.

Wisps of your hair,

The scent of you

The warmth of your body,

The shape of your face,

And a deep ache for one more day, one more minute.

A bottomless ache for you.

I never want to live without you

Your voice,

Timeless, a song that floats in my mind like a prayer drowning out the white noise of the engines and the cold grey floor of the Globemaster that won't let me sleep.

This thing, this leaving, this forever war that always calls me back,

This succubus that steals my life from me one hundred-twenty days at a time.

This act of leaving you, harder and harder.

'I want to go back, I want to do this again, this is who I am.'

A mantra, a story to myself that's more a fiction with every telling.

Each step closer is heavier, harder to take.

Without you I'm an unfinished painting, a love letter written backwards.

And every time another piece of myself I leave at home, leave with you.


Always you.

Ever you.

I love you, please come home to me

And I close my eyes and whisper to myself, This is the last time.