The distance between Johnny and you was a challenge, when he was too busy your life felt emptier and the days stretched out longer. You met him two years ago when he was stationed nearby and the connection had been instant. Things moved very fast, but his deployments meant his visits were rare… only five times in two years. It wasn’t easy.

Every night you waited for his call and when it finally came, everything fell into place. Johnny always asked about your day first, even if it was the early morning or after a grueling mission.

But it wasn’t just calls that kept you connected. He’d mail you trinkets he found, weathered postcards from random places, and shirts that smelled of him.

He told you how much he loved laying in bed and looking through the pictures you sent him that day. Little memories of your world, pictures of you, the food you ate, mundane moments became his solace.

His handwritten letters were your favorite. They were filled with declarations of his love and how much he missed you. He’d write about his days, the things that weighed on him and you. Always you. And at the end of every letter, he’d write:

“I’ll be home soon.”

And tonight, you laid on a video call with him; and it always felt like home. He had the phone propped up on his dresser as he pulled a shirt over his head. The early morning light streamed into his barracks where he was while the moonlight came through the cracks of your blinds.

“I have to go soon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and marked with regret.