I still remember the night I met my other half. I looked into his eyes and knew he was the one I always pictured in my dreams. As I laced my cold lonely hands into his, I knew he would keep them warm till the end of time. Or would he not?
We met during the war time against terrorism in the Middle East, knowing being romantically involved with an Army soldier our hands could easily be parted. I often pondered the idea of love, where it begins, and how it grows and diminishes.
I remember the day I received a call from my other half. With a sincere voice, one I'll never forget because it brought a feeling of confusion and nervousness, sending chills down my spine, he spoke to me clearly. He informed me to go outside and wait for his arrival. I hung up the phone and thought the worst as I paced around the house. Was our relationship over? After pacing and worrying, I waited outside. He drove up shortly, parking directly in front of my house. He departed from the vehicle and walked closer to me, reached out his arms and gave me a warm, heartfelt hug. He asked me to go for a drive, so we did. We went to a beach on the west side of Honolulu, Hawaii. Once there, we exited the vehicle and met in front of the car to lace our hands together. He said, "I love you." I returned the same words as I watched the tears roll down his face, and my eyes began to water. We gazed out into the endless ocean with its waves crashing vigorously upon the shoreline. He started to speak and informed me he got orders to serve our country overseas in the Middle East. I stood there in shock and disbelief. We embraced one another sharing many different emotions. Being nineteen at the time, I questioned the possibility of continuing our relationship. I wondered if our love for one another could withstand such a blow.
The day came in August for his departure; we kissed one last time, knowing it could be our last, knowing the possibility of our love may not...