Finally

He's right here with me. At this exact second. This exact hour. This exact day. Him and I, we are here, as one. We’re here with our bare legs intertwined wantonly with one another. We’re here with our sweaty bodies pressed hard against each other. We’re here with our low and heavy breaths in perfect harmony, bound together like a song of love. We’re here, holding on to each other tightly, as if by any chance we let go, we’ll lose each other forever. We're here, together, finally.

Never mind the years I’ve waited. Never mind the times I spent lying in bed, longing for his soft voice and his reassuring arms around me. Never mind the days I spent alone, looking out our bedroom window, wishing – praying that he’ll somehow show up on our front lawn with suitcases in his hands and his warm, tender smile on his face. Never mind the days I cried my eyes out with my knees on the cold bathroom floor, shouting his name at the top of my lungs, hoping he could hear me from wherever he is. Never mind how I tormented myself worrying over him when I ate my meals alone, if he’s all right, if he’s wounded, if he’s got enough to eat, if he’s thinking of me, if he cries himself to sleep at night, too, or, worse, if he’s still alive.

I knew he was fighting a battle for his country and for his fellow men. But what about me? What about his wife, who loves him and aches for his presence? What about his wife who also fought every day, just so her husband could have someone to come home to. Don’t I get my chance? Don’t I deserve to be with him?

Those were all disregarded and forgotten now that he’s here. It was worth the wait, definitely. He’s home. He’s bursting of life and love and happiness and hope. Hope for me and us, and the family we’re planning to start. Thankfully, he’s home for good now. No more waiting. No more false hopes. No more expecting. No more wishing. No more pain. My heart is whole and I’m alive again.