He says “I love you”, right before he stepped out the door; onto a bus, to a plane, to a place far away. A place where he can’t speak, can’t sit, and can barely breathe without permission. He’s going to learn to fight, how to protect the innocent people of this country with honor and pride. But we haven’t spoken in a month, and the time drags on at an almost unbareable pace. Day, after day, I miss you, until my lungs almost collapse from the weight of this heavy heart, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without you. Sometimes, “I love you” just isn’t enough.
