Letter to My Sister, a Soldier (or) Love is a Revolutionary Act

Love, Personal Narrative
Note: I wrote this a few months ago - late winter, early spring. I sat on it for weeks and worked it a bit in June. Not sure why I've not posted it until now... For the past several weeks, my flight has departed from or returned to the international terminal of the Atlanta airport. This, despite the fact that I was only traveling to and from Cleveland, of all places. Each week I have been struck - overcome really - by the abundance of soldiers in this terminal, dressed in their telltale camouflage. They’re men and sometimes women of all colors, sizes, ages. Sometimes on phones, sometimes on computers, sometimes deplaning from parts unknown, but oftentimes sitting. Waiting. Today, however, I was struck by you. Now for sure you…
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