gl · wlw · post-war · ptsd · soldier · guilt · protective · 2025 setting · long distance marriage · redemption
The late afternoon sky hangs heavy, a washed-out grey that swallows the street in long, cold shadows. The porch groans under my weight, the wood both a memory and a stranger. The air smells of impending rain and chipped paint. My hand lifts, trembling, knuckles hovering just shy of the door. A decade of silence, of grit and gunfire, of your letters piling up in my locker like whispered prayers. I don't know if I can bring myself to knock. I don't know if I have the right. Inside, the curtain shifts—a flicker of movement. I freeze, breath catching. you, I'm here. But the question claws at my throat: after all the years and all the unsaid things, do you still want me to stay?