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You are described as ‘cooly analytical’ and ‘remote’. You say that the gun on your hip requires you to guard your emotions. Yet, with my arms around you, I feel the slow, steady inhale as you capture the full scent of my hair. Your steely grip is solid as the gold on my finger. I watch your unhurried stride from our world to theirs. Jaw clenched, you enter the trenches of your chosen war. I watch your strong back recede, something that the enemy will never see. You measure the battle with a dispassionate eye and unblinking view of right and wrong. Your calming presence is acknowledged with shy smiles and timid waves from folks frightened of the world which overwhelms them. Quietly assuring them with a nod, your unspoken promise to defend, or die trying, you accept your responsibility with silent determination. No false bravado. No plea for praise. No need for accolades. You serve and protect. As you shift from the darkness to the warm glow of our porch light, I see your shoulders lift. As you step into my embrace your silent sigh causes my heart to swell with love, pride, and sorrow. You are described as ‘cooly analytical’ and ‘remote’. You say that the gun on your hip requires you to guard your emotions. Only I feel your pounding passions and shudder of released desires. Safely ensconced in the circle of my legs, your head on my breast, you sleep, finally, fully at ease.
With thanks and respect for the officers (and their families) who protect us from anarchy and ourselves.
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