The night sky over England is clear this eve, though the air is thick with the distant rumble of returning bombers. Soon, it shall be my turn again.
I write to you now by the faint glow of a lantern, each word a vow, each stroke of ink a plea that this letter finds you well. Margaret, you are my beacon in the dark. Each moment apart is its own hardship, but knowing you wait for me keeps me steadfast.
I think of you always. I think of your laughter, light as a summer breeze, of the way your hand felt in mine that last evening before I was called away. I still hear the strains of the gramophone, the way the world seemed to still when you smiled at me.
Margaret, I cannot promise I shall return unchanged, but I promise to fight with all my might to see you once more. Until then, let these words serve as my embrace, my devotion sealed within each line. Hold me in your heart, as you shall ever be in mine.
Yours ever faithfully,James
September 5, 1943
My Beloved James,
Your letter arrived this day, and I pressed it to my heart before daring to read. Every word steadies me, reminding me that across the sea, beyond the din of war, your heart beats in time with mine.
Life here is quiet yet filled with unrest. The streets hum with whispers of news from the front, and the ration queues stretch longer with each passing day. Yet, I find you in the smallest things—the scent of your cologne lingering on the jacket I refuse to store away, the gramophone playing our song when I close my eyes and let memory take me.
James, I am proud, yet I am afraid. Proud that you stand so bravely, that you fight for something greater than yourself. But I fear the dangers that lurk in the skies, the dreadful hours where I know not where you are nor whether you are safe. Still, I have faith—faith in you, in us, in the love that no war can claim.
Come back to me, my dearest. Until that blessed day, I shall keep a candle burning in the window, a light to guide you home.
Yours ever devotedly,Margaret
October 20, 1943
My Darling Margaret,
The days grow colder now, though my heart remains warmed by thoughts of you. The war stretches on, and the men here speak often of home. Some receive letters, others simply stare at the horizon, as though willing time to bring them back to those they love.
Our missions are more frequent, the danger ever-present. Last night, as we flew over enemy lines, I thought of you. In those moments when death is so near, one does not think of country or honor, but of the faces we hold dear. You, Margaret, are the one I see. If anything were to happen, know that my final thoughts are of you, my love, my reason.
Do not worry for me, though I know you will. Keep strong, as you have always been. The thought of returning to you, of seeing you standing at the station, is what carries me through. I will come home, my love. I must.
Ever yours,James
November 15, 1943
My Dearest James,
The leaves have turned to gold and red, and with each passing day, the air grows colder. I wrap myself in the scarf you gave me last Christmas, and it feels like an embrace from you.
News from the front is scarce, and I cling to every word of your letters as though they are lifelines. Each night, I whisper prayers for your safety, sending my love across the ocean, hoping it reaches you.
I have taken to writing daily, though I know many of my letters may never reach you. Still, it comforts me to put my thoughts onto paper, to imagine you reading them beneath the same moon that watches over us both. Do you see it too, James? Do you think of me when you do?
I long for the day when I may run into your arms once more, when this war is but a shadow in our past. Until then, I shall remain steadfast, waiting for you as I always have.
Yours in love and longing,Margaret
December 24, 1943
My Beloved Margaret,
It is Christmas Eve, and though I am surrounded by men, I have never felt more alone. The barracks are quiet, save for the murmurs of men dreaming of home. There are no carols, no laughter, only the heavy weight of longing.
I have carried your last letter with me, rereading it by candlelight. You asked if I see the same moon. Yes, my love, I do. And when I do, I imagine you looking upon it too, and it makes the distance between us feel just a little smaller.
I wish I could promise you that this will all be over soon, that I will walk through our front door and sweep you into my arms. But war makes no such promises. All I can vow is that I will fight to return to you, that I will hold onto our love through the darkest nights.
Merry Christmas, my darling. May next year bring us together once more.
Forever yours,James
January 18, 1944
My Sweetest James,
The new year has arrived, but my only wish remains unchanged—that you return safely to me. The town is quieter now, many families missing sons and husbands. Each time I hear of a telegram arriving, my breath catches in my throat, a silent plea that your name is not upon it.
I have taken to sitting by the window in the evenings, knitting a scarf for you, though I know not when you will need it. It is my way of keeping my hands busy, of keeping hope alive.
James, I will wait for you, no matter how long. The war may steal our days apart, but it shall never take my love for you. Come back to me, my dearest.
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