A Thousand Letters(76)

He swallowed, meeting my eyes and dropping them again as the wind ruffled his dark hair. "It wasn't until I was in Iraq, when my mail finally caught up, that I opened one. There were twenty of them, all with your handwriting on the envelope, and where I was, so far away, I … I found I wasn't mad. I only missed you. So I opened one. Then another. Then I couldn't stop, not until I'd read them all."

Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back, steeling myself.

"And then, I wrote. Letter after letter poured out of me, the things I'd wished I'd said. Some were angry. Some were happy, some sad. But they were all wrong. I didn't know how to tell you I was wrong, that it wasn't your fault but mine. And I was, Elliot. I was wrong. I was selfish and scared, and I've regretted that for a long, long time." He took a breath. "I thought when I came home, maybe you could forgive me. We could talk, make it all right. Go back to the old plan. I couldn't answer you while I was there because … well, because of no good reason, I see that now. But at the time, I was stuck there. The only concession I gave myself, the only allowance to feel anything, was when I sat down to write you a thousand letters I never sent. Friends died, I saw things that made me feel like I wouldn't make it out. I had nothing to offer you, nothing to give, no promises to make, not until I was home. And when I finally did get back, when I opened your first letters, I realized just how wrong I was."

He met my eyes, and I saw his were sparkling with tears.

"You changed your mind."

My breath hitched, and I nodded.

"I didn't know," he breathed. "I would have come back before leaving for deployment. I would have married you then, if I'd known you'd been begging me to come back that whole time. The answer I wanted was given to me over and over again, piled up in a locker in the dark. And when … when I read them, I knew there would be no going back. I believed at the time that I'd lost you forever without even asking you because how could you ever forgive me? I pushed you and blamed you, and you believed I didn't want you because I didn't come home. I could have married you then, but I had too much pride. I was young, young and stupid. And by the time I realized how wrong I'd been not to reach out to you, it had been years. Your letters had stopped. You were through. But I kept writing you back, every day, even after you stopped. I never stopped loving you, even though I thought you had stopped loving me."

He set the box on the concrete rail and picked up the journal, unwinding the strap, opening it to one of his letters before he offered it to me.

The leather was soft, the book heavy in my palm as I read his words, the words I'd imagined for so long.

Elliot —

Every day that passes takes me farther away from you, from us, from what we had. I sit in the mountains, surrounded by men who are each alone entirely, and I think of you. I can remember you so vividly that sometimes I feel like you're here, and I imagine what you would say, what I would say. Sometimes I imagine that we talk about nothing, that I make you laugh, that you kiss me and tell me you'll always be waiting. Other times, I imagine us saying all the things we'll never have a chance to say.

I wish I were brave enough to send these letters to you. As much as I love you, as much as I always will, when I sit under the stars on the other side of the globe, I know that you and I can't fit into each other's worlds. But there will ever only be you, for all my life.

I ran my trembling fingers over his words, then across a letter I'd written him that rested in the crease, folded like a paper boat. I flipped back through the pages, letter after letter, his words breaking me, his sorrow, his longing. His heart had been through what mine had.

"It's always been you, Elliot. Every night when I lay my head on the pillow, every morning when I rise, it's only you. Tell me I'm not too late. Tell me there's still a chance for us, and I will spend every breath I have earning your forgiveness. Tell me that you still love me, and I will give myself to you completely."

I was overcome, unable to speak as I closed the journal and clutched it to my aching heart. And because words could not find me, I stepped closer until our bodies met, laid my hand on the hard line of his jaw, tilted my chin, and kissed him with everything I possessed.

His lips against mine transferred truth, singing softly as they parted and closed against mine in a song of deliverance and salvation.

He wrapped his arms around me, breathing me in deeper with every second as the kiss went on and on forever just as it ended too soon. He searched my face, only a few inches from his, his breath warming my skin.

"Is it true? Is it real?" he asked in a whisper. "After everything I've done, could you still love me?"

"I have loved only you," I whispered back, and his face lit with joy, bent with grace as he kissed me again. And with a few simple words, he was mine and I was his, as it had always been, even when it was unspoken.

He dipped his chin, breaking the kiss as he pressed his forehead to mine.

I was home.





27





Wait





Waves lap my feet

Eyes on the horizon

Love in my heart

As I wait

For you.



* * *



- M. White





* * *