Stop kicking me

I walk into my closet... I let my elbows graze his clothes. Chills shoot through my arms, and head straight for the muscle in my chest. Its speed increases for a time, then slows to its normal erratic rhythm. As this day is full of his laundry, I realize I've missed the sweaty socks, stinking PTs, and cologne filled polo shirts. His clothes only smell of dust... 7 months of house dust. My excitement, now polished and fired up, causes a nervous tick in my feet. I pound them with impressive speed on our wood floors. I couldn't thread a needle, if asked. Caffeine is really unnecessary. My metabolism is increased each time I think of 8 days... tomorrow, 7 days.

It really is unreal how quickly time has passed. These 25 years and some odd months have gone quickly; why shouldn't this year? Yea... 7.5 months. One would think time might stop. Groundhog day, everyday... for both he and myself. When he goes back his battalion will already be planning their return to "the states" (seriously, what American calls I" 'the states"). Only 4.5 months left. Wow... think of the respect we shall both have for one another. It's already increased two-fold... even more so when this year of waiting is over.

I kick myself for my uncertainty. When I'm weak... when I weep. When sorrow over comes me, and I've fallen on my knees. I'm harder on myself than any other person could be...
Tonight my thoughts tonight are broken and disconnected. I'll stop here.

PS 'shroom... I'm gonna channel me some energy in about 8 days give or take an hour.