Widow’s Peak.  Not a place that I visited until recently.  No, I’m not a widow.  Couldn’t be even if he passed.  Still I come back.  Leaning against the railing watching the waves below just as I have been doing every day for the past few months and still nothing.  He said that he would return.  That he would’ve been back over two months ago.  Though, since his last visit, he has been gone for a year, I couldn’t wait until I was able touch him again.  To run my hands through his hair.  To trace the scars that dotted his skin.  Even when he stands there, all stoic awaiting orders, my knees weaken.  The strength that he exudes makes me feel safe just knowing he’s close.  This past year has been nerve-wracking enough without him...

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