I remember how handsome you were the day we met. There were snowflakes caught in your hair and lashes. They melted and water dripped into our eyes when we kissed, waves crashing against the pier. The world was a blur around us, the chill fading between our shared heat. Time ticked impossibly, incredibly, perfectly, slowly. We thought it would never end.
The next day, you left me with nothing but a torn photograph and a shattered heart. After the bombing at Pearl Harbor, you said you had to go, that it was your duty as an American. You wrapped me in your arms, kissed me one last time, and walked out the door. I should’ve said I loved you.
A week later, I got a telegram. A man at the door handed it to me, glancing away toward the horizon. My heart sank into my stomach. The United States Army gave me their greatest sympathies, but sympathies didn’t bring you back. None of the tears and lost sleep could keep you where you should have stayed. Here, next to me. The pier seems lonely with out you.