The night is quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe. The only sound is the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes, the hours, the days until he comes back. My love, Soldier Moore is gone again, off on another mission, and I am here, caught between the ache of missing him and the unwavering faith that he will return.

I trace the edge of my phone, staring at our last message. "I'll be back soon. I love you." Simple words, but they carry the weight of the world. I don’t know where he is, what he’s doing, or when I’ll hear from him next. All I know is that somewhere, miles away, he's pushing forward, serving, fighting, surviving.

Nights like this are the hardest. The bed feels too big, the house too empty. I imagined myself wrapped in one of his old hoodies, the scent of him fading but still enough to bring comfort. I whisper a prayer, my hands clutched tight, asking God to keep him safe, to bring him back to me in one piece—physically, mentally, and spiritually whole.

I think about the moment he left. The way he should have hold me, his strong arms wrapped around me as if he could somehow freeze time. Him whispering "Be strong,". But what he doesn’t know is that he is my strength. Without him, I feel like a candle flickering against the wind, fighting to stay lit.

But I do fight. I fight the loneliness. I fight the worry. I fight the fear that creeps in when I let my mind wander too far. Because that’s what love does—it fights. It holds on. It endures.

So I wait.

I wait for the message that will light up my screen in the middle of the night, reminding me that he’s okay. I wait for the sound of his voice, tired but full of love. I wait for the day when he will call me FaceTime, smile bright, like where we belong.

And until then, I carry him with me. In my prayers, in my dreams, in every beat of my heart.

Soldier Moore, wherever you are—my love, my heart, my prayers follow you. Always.