Musings: You know you’re grown up when…

… you do the V for Victory sign and think of Winston Churchill rather than the Spice Girls. This has only happened to me in the last year. (It’s true.)

This evening. I’m watching a drama in which a soldier comes home from the war and suddenly I remember waiting at Brize Norton for J when he came back from Afghanistan. The shyness I felt before I ran at him. The smell of his fresh sweat and the scratchy feeling of his not-quite-shaved jaw. The always surprising softness of his lips and the fuzzy prickle of his military cut. How I could not hold him tight enough, how I buried my nose and eyes and mouth in his neck to convince all my senses he was real. The memory was so strong I reeled slightly, my shoulders tensed as if I were braced as he leaned against me with his eyes closed.

Memories. Some of them are as solid and powerful as bricks.

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