She sat on the wooden porch, her swing rocking with the flow of the wind. She gazed out at the cracked driveway, its entrance surrounded by a white painted fence. Pieces peel away from the wood, like the chipped nail polish that coats her fingers. The uneven grass that covers the yard dances with the whispers of the earth. Her feet barely reach the ground, only the tips of her uncovered toes grazing the stained porch surface. Clutching onto a tarnished, silver locket, her hands are lifted right above her heart. Roses, engraved into the metal, adorn the face of the locket. She runs her thumb over their ridges, each crevasse holding its own secret; a memory only she holds.

She lifts her head up to the pillow covered sky, the brightest of blues covering her world. Her blonde ringlets fall behind her ears, the sun reflecting off of her tear stained cheeks. Her lips begin to move, no sound coming out of her mouth. Another tear spills over her eyelid. Continuing to memorize the textured surface of the locket she holds, she presses her fingers into the ridges. With each skim of the surface a new feeling fills her body.

She can smell the pungent aroma of his skin; musk and burnt like fire wood. She can feel his strong hands, delicately placed on her back. The glow off of his strawberry tinted hair fades over her vision. It feels as if he is rubbing her back in comfort. The feeling of him is uniquely soft under the tips of her fingers. Heat spreads from the center of her back until it radiates through her fingertips. She can feel him with her. Standing there, holding her in his hands. A deep exhale escapes her body as she drops the locket from her hands, letting it bounce back to its home on her chest. The warmth leaves her body and the smell of bonfire is replaced by a spring afternoon. She can feel a slight tingle on her back, outlining the shape of two hands. She holds on to it as long as she can, but it quickly fades and leaves her empty; vulnerable once again.

She reaches for the letter that sits half folded beside her. Its corners are rounded and worn from her holding, its surface stained from tears. She had read it only once. Thinking about it now makes her fingers shake and her heart to throb against her chest. It was the last thing she knew of him. The reminder of how things used to be causes more tears to spill down her face. With trembling hands and a weak heart, she slid her finger in the fold and flipped it open. Her eyes skip to the last line of the letter. I’ll be home soon. She takes a moment of weakness and lets herself go. The letter falls to her lap, and her hands lift to cover her eyes. Her body convulses, as deep sobs escape her.

She could remember the times when she waited on that swing for him to come home. She felt excitement in finally being able to see her love once more. But he is gone, and she finally realizes that. He will not be coming home but she knows he isn't gone forever. The times she can feel him most are the ones like right now. She can feel him the most out here when she is all alone, swinging back and forth under the blue sky. She places the locket between her pointer and middle finger, turning it over and over. She hopes it will cause time to reverse, back to the time when the letter brought only warmth and anticipation, not pain and longing.