I dream of fireflies and I weep. Summer has come and gone and still he has not returned to me. Was he ever mine, wholly? I know he loves a ghost. I know a part of him remains sealed away from me, because it contains her image. The X on his cheek runs deeper than the surface skin; it has roots in his heart.
But I am shameless. I would rather have half his heart than none at all. I will take what he gives me and will come back for more. I will wait, and wait, and find solace in his faithfulness to the promises we've made. The woman who lives in memory cannot touch him as I can. She no longer feels him trembling in her arms. She no longer harbors his warmth when he comes in from the cold. She has never felt his child growing in her womb.
I can feel him now, our child; he is safe inside me, where wars cannot touch him, where past and future have yet to intrude into the present. This child is a more lasting testimony of love than a painfully healed scar.
A single firefly has entered the room. His wavering light falls upon my distended stomach…I feel as though the hand of my husband had caressed it. My baby kicks in response, driving the creature away…
Come back to us, my love. Your son will be hurt by your absence. And I…I fear the darkness that has driven us apart. I fear that it will obscure your path and make you stumble into a trap that would keep you from resting beside me. You, of all people, need your rest. For once, let me be the one to protect you.
Return to me my love…let the fireflies light your way back home.