November 2003 (Present Day)

For what seemed like a short time ago I know realize has turned into months. Sitting on the end of his empty bed holding a stack of pictures I wonder why he was so good to me although I'd never met him. Looking down to the bundle of pictures in my hand I slowly slide through every one of them remembering the story behind them; the first one that caught my eye was dated: June 2003.

Walking down the warm sand to the pier with Amber, my good friend for ages now, I felt I was being watched. The day was hotter than normal meaning almost everyone was out on the beach; Amber invited a few guys hoping to get one of them involved with me but I wasn't interested at all. She looked at me as if I were insane as the guys shrugged off my rejection by running to go play a game of volleyball down the beach.

"What was that about?" Amber asked.

"What, I told you I don't want to be with anyone and you still brought them." I replied pointing behind us to the volleyball court.

"They were cute and I thought they could get you out of Singleville but I guess not." She said leaning against the railing of the pier in her navy shirt.

I looked down at the old boards of the pier before meeting her eyes—she was right after all.

"I don't want that; I just want someone I can deeply talk to." I mumbled just over the roar of the waves.

Amber gave me a look.

"A guy someone." I specified.

"Why not write someone?" Amber suggested.

"Yeah…Like who, who would I write?" I said brushing hair away from my face.

"Why not a soldier, There are some single Army guys you could write that are still overseas." She hinted at while nudging my side.

"Maybe but like I said I'm not wanting a relationship" I said.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you." Amber shrugged as she looked back to the shore to watch the guys. She pulled out an old fashioned camera and took a picture of me sitting on the split wood.

"If you do it send the guy this picture—you look good in it." She said handing the photo as it slowly went from black to color revealing a girl with short brown hair and green eyes.

The next few days I wandered to the shore line and dipped my feet into the light waves. Unlike the last time I was here with Amber the beach was quiet this time. I found a program online for people to write to soldiers that had nothing here anymore; family gone or single. I clicked onto the application once and hesitated on the question of which gender I would prefer get my letter—filling out the needed information and an attachment of a small casual letter to give to "your soldier" I clicked submit. What good can come from sites like this? Do the men or women even care about the envelope from a person they have never met? These are things I'll never understand.