there's something stilted about this good-bye;
something is too perfect, but she just can't
place her finger on it. his navy whites lay
so carefully pressed, folded, starched, dried,
worn (almost a little too) flawlessly—the navy
will be proud of their officer when he arrives

"home? honey, he's
not coming home
. your brother
is gone."

"…no. no, no, no. he has to come home!"

& the nightmare just
never ends. this is why she never wanted to say
"good-bye": somewhere inside,
where she just knows things (she shouldn't
know these things, she shouldn't be able to see
what's to come, what will happen
before he comes home, before he makes the grand
entrance, before his eyes sparkle & he flashes that
cocky grin; she just shouldn't know these things),

she always knew
that one of these days
he just wasn't going to be able to come home.

she always knew
the united states department of the navy
would take her brother from her
& she always knew
the united states department of the navy
wouldn't be able to give him back.

"—just please, pleasepleaseplease,
not this time. give him back to me
for just a few more weeks.
please. don't take him from me,
not yet(not ever).

give me back my brother, god dammit."


a/n: I miss my brother.
I miss my cousin.
I miss my friends.
They're all fighting for our country,
while I'm stuck here,
will they all make it home (alive)?
War is a horrible thing.
It truly is.

My brother will be home on 18 Aug before he returns to school.
My cousin will be home from Kuwait for two weeks before he goes back.
My friend probably won't be coming home before he goes to the hell overseas.