Isabella

Izzie sat in the small, sunlit corner of their living room, the soft hum of the ceiling fan a comforting backdrop to her thoughts. She ran her fingers across the paper in front of her, the texture familiar under her touch as she prepared to write her next letter to Adrian. Her mind drifted to the mornings they once shared—like that particular morning, not so long ago, when they had laughed about burnt toast and teased each other over matching sweaters. She smiled softly, recalling the warmth of his hand as he helped her out of bed, the sound of his easy laughter that filled their little home. That morning had been perfect in its simplicity, the memory of it clear despite the time that had passed since he’d been deployed. The park. Their park. She could still feel the way his arm fit around her shoulders, the way he guided her down the familiar path, their steps in sync as they strolled in comfortable silence. They had walked there so many times, the sounds of birds and the distant chatter of children filling the air. But it was his voice, always playful and steady, that had grounded her most. Now, as she sat alone, she could still hear him in her mind, teasing her as they made their way through the park that morning. “I’m still not wearing the matching sweaters,” he had insisted. She had laughed, leaning against him. “You’ll give in eventually.” And he had, eventually. Just like he always did. The sound of the birds had faded that day, but the memory remained vivid, especially now that he was so far away. Izzie bit her lip, letting the memory settle before she picked up the pen. She pressed the pen to the paper, her hand moving slowly across the page as she wrote in careful, deliberate strokes. Dear Adrian, I still visit the park. There are more people there these days—families, couples, children running around with their parents calling after them. It’s not as quiet as it used to be. Sometimes I miss the way it felt when it was just the two of us, our little world among the trees and the sound of birds overhead. But there are days when it’s not so crowded. On those days, I sit on our bench and let the peace wash over me. It reminds me of you. The way you always made me feel at ease, even when everything else seemed uncertain. I like to think you’re still walking beside me, just like we used to. Maybe you’re laughing about the matching sweaters again. I miss you, Adrian. I miss the sound of your voice, your laughter, the way you always knew how to make me smile even when I didn’t want to. The park isn’t the same without you, but I go because it makes me feel closer to you. It reminds me that you’ll come home, and we’ll walk those paths together again. Until then, I’ll keep going, just like we always did. She paused, feeling the weight of her own words as they settled on the page. The ache of missing him was familiar now, but writing to him always seemed to lessen the burden, even if only for a moment. She imagined him reading her letter, smiling at her descriptions of the park, maybe shaking his head at her mention of matching sweaters. Izzie smiled to herself at the thought, even as her heart tugged painfully at the distance between them. She pressed the pen to the paper again, her final words flowing easily. Stay safe, my love. I’m counting the days until you’re home. Love, Izzie. She folded the letter carefully, the paper soft between her fingers. With a deep breath, she sealed it in an envelope, knowing that her words would travel across miles to reach him, just as her thoughts always did. The park would still be there tomorrow, and she would go again. But for now, her heart felt a little lighter, knowing that Adrian would soon hold her words, if not her hand. And she would see him. With a sigh, she placed the letter aside, her smile lingering as she whispered softly to herself, "Soon, Adrian. Soon."