11/11

**Let me start off first by thanking ALL of those who have served our country in her short but profound history. The men and women who grace our history books, and especially those who don't. For those who never got a proper thank you from their generation, and for those who some stories are just too hard to tell. For those who come by this blog and have loved ones who have served or are serving, who have served in the past or who are serving now, THANK YOU...**

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He has these incredible blue eyes that change depending on what he's wearing - and I'm sure they've seen things.

His lips are delectable to kiss and never fail to spill out words that are capable of making me melt. They tell me he loves me and he misses me. They laugh with me and sometimes at me. They carry his voice, with it's southern draw and smooth depth. - they have also given orders. They speak Arabic. His lips have been thirsty and dry from time spent in a thirsty and dry place.

His ears remember to listen when I have a story to tell. They allow me to complain, or to swoon, or to chatter without protest. - But I'm sure they've heard gunshots, I'm sure they've heard mortars, and they have also listened to soldiers who are weary or tired.

His hands are strong and never fail to fit perfectly in mine. They can sweep hair out of my eyes, wipe a tear, and give some of the most amazing hugs - yet they have also held a weapon for protection.

His shoulders are firm, and they are always there to rest my arms on should I be in the mood for a piggy back ride or to lay my head on when I am tired - they've carried ruck sack after ruck sack, and have held up his IBA for long hours.

His arms can envelop me. They are my favorite. Even the markings on him encompass a memory for me, of us, and where we started - and they have also help lift and carry supplies, prepared for missions, handed out humanitarian aides, and held the Iraqi baby who made him laugh during his interview which gave me the first glimpse of his chuckle in what had been far too long.

His Legs have chased me around the room over a cupcake, and his feet have kept mine warm late at night when the covers don't help. They walk with confidence as he circles around the car to open my door... every time. - yet his legs have also worn dirty ACU's and his feet heavy boots. They have been up and going for many hours on patrol and have sustained their fair share of abuse from the daily grind of deployment, and war.

There is no one quite like him. Yet there are many like him.

Here and there, it is always him, and he will always been my hero. For all that he has sacrificed, and all he claims he hasn't, for his humble heart and tendency to want to evade any hoopla over his service, for EVERYTHING he has done to serve his country, I am so proud.

Happy Veterans day honey!