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Published January 30, 2024
Troy continues holding me and doesn’t push for me to tell him what’s wrong. He’s the stalwart against all my storms, supporting me when my base crumbles.
I’m not sure what I would do without him.
Johann steps out of the barn, his expression winter-storm dark. The pistol grasped in his hand is pointed at me.
“Where the hell are they?” Johann’s tone isn’t just angry.
The kind and compassionate man before me is a juxtaposition to what his uniform stands for.
“Thank you.” Johann’s voice is a whisper, the words meant only for me.
I’m still alive, so I’m holding on tight to that.
And with each kiss, tiny pieces of me the war has stolen are restored.