I tell him I’ll be right back but it’s a lie. The bracelet burns my wrist, the name etched through the silver and onto my skin—the only man I’ve ever wanted, the only one I can never have. I stand on the porch and listen to the rumbling surf, the sounds from the house behind me, the laughter, the fun. I stare at the metal, dull by the moonlight. I stare at the name.
It’s aluminum alloy, the same thing his dog tags were made from. I remember the way those tags felt in my hands, smooth and warmed by his skin. I remember the way they would fall into the hollow of my throat when he lay above me. I remember the way I pressed them to his chest the last time I kissed him goodbye.
They were never found.
All I have of him is this bracelet and the memories, and his field jacket with a peace si
