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[She'd kept his dog tags next to her skin every day and night since he'd been gone. She's slept in them, showered in them, worn them tucked underneath her shirt during the day. In some ways, he never seemed far away. He was in her head, against her skin and in the way her knuckles ached when she got angry; Never very far away, but somehow when he's under the same roof, he seems further away than ever. She lays in bed, twisting the chain of his dog tags around her fingers until the chain imprints into her skin, red welts that will fade far too quickly. She huffs, breath sliding between her lips before she gets up, letting the dog tags fall against her chest again.
She'd get a glass of milk, maybe some cookies and she'd feel more like sleeping afterwards. Or at least that's what she tells herself when she creeps down the stairs and into the kitchen wearing her nightgown, her hands bare and her hair loose around her shoulders.]
She'd get a glass of milk, maybe some cookies and she'd feel more like sleeping afterwards. Or at least that's what she tells herself when she creeps down the stairs and into the kitchen wearing her nightgown, her hands bare and her hair loose around her shoulders.]
