Sweetheart,
It's hard for me to start to write because I can't seem to put into writing the way I feel. I was so happy to hear from you, and if I had any doubts about us two before this, they're far removed now. I think you said in words what I feel about you and couldn't express myself.
I've felt kind of empty since we've parted. I thought it was possible that it was something that would blow over in a short time. However, after going to town a few times for a few drinks and a dance or two, I wasn't enjoying myself as I had in the past, and I was convinced that we were stuck together for good. You may be there and I could be any place, and I'll always feel that we're together some way, some how!
I can't even lie down for forty winks without thinking of you or dreaming of you - when I wake up, I'm sorry it's over because you're not there anymore. I've felt like some part of me was taken away; that I desired something to grab onto to make my being complete - and I can fill it partially when I think of you, but there's always that feeling of hopeless grasping for something that isn't physically within reach. I know that if you were in my arms, there would be nothing more exhalting, nothing more fulfilling of that half souled feeling I've had since leaving.
There's a soft, constant pain in my heart; a desire to be with you, and a love so intense that if I were to lose you - life would be full of effort without end.
We're as one, honey, and if it's up to my feelings, we'll always be together!
I don't think anyone was ever more happier in love than me, nor more sad in being apart. Somehow, even if I don't get to come home, I feel that we can arrange it to see each other a lot more in the next few short months. If you feel the way I do, it'll be easy, oh, so very easy - May God give his blessing and see to it that we're not parted again for a very long time.
As I write, I feel disgusted that I can't write what I feel for you. My pen wants to break from the pressure on it - squeezing that you'd get if you were here. No matter what I write, it doesn't come near to what my heart is saying. If I were a poet, I'd compose the best poem yet, and if I were a novelist, I'd write the best story. Darling, what pain could be more closer to happiness?
Something has been bothering me. Your dad couldn't very well express an honest opinion of me not knowing me - not even seeing me, but I wondered what he thought of us. What does he think of our love? He probably wouldn't say what he feels about it, but you know your dad, and you know how he feels without asking him. He loves you a great deal, I know, and so does your mother - but I'm going to be selfish and love you too, try to love you more if I can - that won't be hard.
My mother likes you, my sister likes you, in fact, they all like you, how could they dislike you. I was so proud of you that last night; I had the prettiest, the sweetest, and the loveliest creature, why shouldn't I feel proud? You were so damn nice, that I could have walked into the room and said "That's the girl for me," and wouldn't have known anymore about you than just to see you as you were. Darling, you're a peach! My girl - am I a lucky boy to have met you, you because no one else will do, ever!
I guess we can thank Helen for getting us together that way - fate is funny. But we would have met sooner or later anyway - maybe as long as 50 years from now. I think I would still have fallen for you even then.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," but until next time, we'll make it the sweetest!
My heart and my love, always,
Jim
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