My Dearest Lindsey:
We have yet to fall in love but over the lonely years I’ve written nights of whispers to you, letters that never expect response for you are like rain on a warm sunny day. I speak to you this night where stars and flames light up the sky for battle never seems to cease. These precious moments where I can speak to you feel like fleeting lifetimes that play out in my thoughts over and over and over again. At least I try to savor them as such. Incessant bombs explode all around me and become the night, each explosion tears me just a little further from you, the whispers become just a little softer and sometimes I wonder if I am a soul lost in a vast sea that spans across all of existence. I fear that I may disappear in this fight and be forgotten forever like a leaf discolored with age that crumbles and decays in the grip of someone’s hand. I wonder about where you may be and if you even share such feelings, and I’m filled with a desire and a longing for you, even if that again is only imagination in the mind of someone desperately searching for love. I write all these letters to myself for I have no other with whom to share these words and now I must go back to the fight, this momentary lapse all the time that I have to share with you.
I have loved you always,