To my dearest,
Winter has come and it’s turned frigid. I long for our time together and your warm embrace. While you fight in savage lands, far away from me, I oft think of you. Is your work going well? Is the government working you too hard on these progressive projects? Are you lonely in your bunk at night? Do you think of me?
I am lonesome without you here with me. I have stopped having cocktail hours, even though you made me promise to continue without you; it’s too much to bear. After my day in town, I seem to only muster enough energy to read by the fire. I am distracted all day at the bakery, daydreaming of summertime, picnics on hilltops and bike rides in the country sides. My focus only becomes acute when I hear the radio with news. I know you have told me that you are not too close to the front lines but I still worry so.
Until that day, I humbly wait for you, bandaging young men’s wounds, baking bread for the wonderful people here and helping out the best I can. I will meet you in
on the day of liberation, which must be soon or I will dry up from all the tears I’ve shed missing you. Paris
With all my love,