You had a boyfriend. His name was Jensen. Jensen Lopez.

You guys were in love. You had just turned 18, and you knew who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You had known Jensen since you were only 8. You were perfect for eachother.

You loved him so much. He loved you too. He would always give you flowers and call you when he wasn’t with you, or ask his mom to spend the night. His mom loved you, too.

One day, you guys got into a huge argument. Bigger than any of your other ones. Why? Because you wanted to join the army. He didn’t like that, the idea of you being out there and not safe, not to mention the fact you would be away from him. But you were stubborn about it. Your family had been in the army for generations, it was practically a tradition.

So you would write him in the army. And write him. And write him. But you never once got a letter back.

Not once.

It wasn’t long before you found out they were sending you to war in another country. So they let you go home for a week, to say your goodbyes.

And here you were, at Jensens doorstep.