It happened last summer, too. Channels of information would barrel by, sideswiping me in the gossipy whirl of the newly engaged. I tried to let the confetti fall then with less effect, then when I was raw and refusing to heal. And now full on love also, I mask the sting of envy but artfully, more optimistically, more contented. I have found that I actually am glad for those embarking upon such a merging, in the same way I have grown to appreciate friend's whose soldiers have returned while mine remains away. It is one of the most grown-up lessons I've learned thus far, to be happy for others when the same place inside is filled with only echoes.
I'm one of those girls who dates with agenda, who loves with future visions, and scribbles a familiar first name with possible lasts [Mrs. The Staff Sergeant]. And for the first time, I am not met with similar views. I brought up the taboo language of Marriage once, too early of course. It blew up with a cacophony of offense and defense, blubbering and recoiling. We survived though.
- I'm sorry about last night.
- I'm sorry it scared me.
We carry with us the heavy weights of childhood impressions, though I am unsure why I want it so - the last name, the family-of-two, the Home anchor. But I do. I do ten-fold when he's gone and I'm weary from absence, and wondering, but pretty sure he doesn't think about Us that way. And week after week more futures spin by like trains with destinations I cannot see. Life works out how it should, I know, but there's no one I could imagine being more perfect than him. There is no one else I would willingly follow to the ends of the earth, through the obstacle course of Army, and war.
We're closing in on a year and maybe it seems rushed to claim readiness. But don't they say that when you know, you know?