"Here's to my love!
O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick.
Thus with a kiss I die."
Dear Rose,
The days have gotten longer, gives us more time to fight, even though the nights really aren't that much better, sometimes worse.
As for the weather, you ask. Sometimes, when I peak out the trench, I see the hills in the distance have gotten greener. It's Spring. Yet my soul rots in a pit of cold and harsh Winter. The kind when the only snow you see is the one mashed with mud... and blood. Occasionally there will be this silence, tranquility, in between us and them shooting, when you think you can hear soft church bells in the distance, or maybe it's only your heaf ringing from the fire a second before.
As with sound, so it clears with sight. When neither side shoots for a while, and you accidentally find yourself looking upwards, you might catch a glance of a blue, rich blue sky. You only see it in fragments, it hides behind a wall of gun-smoke. And it soon leaves, the rampant fire waking you from your dream of bluer skies, and greener hills, and fresh air, and clean clothes.
I, or I try to, hope that I'll be home soon, yet somehow I've lost the faith. I hate to be so depressing, and you know it Dear, but we swore to honesty and there's not a single lie in these words of mine.
Life here is miserable. This is no life for a soldier, let alone a young man, with a child, and a wife, his whole life ahead of him. Tears sting my eyes when I remember my life before this mess. But then I do look forward to the one in front of me, trying not to think about one I'm living currently. Nonetheless, I'll try to keep my spirits up. For you, and for Lizzie.
With Love,
P.
YOU ARE READING
Til Roses Do Us Part || ✔
Historical Fiction1914 The Great War had just begun and two British newlyweds exchange letters as the conflict escalates on the Western front; one of them on land, the other in the trenches. They share tenderness, compassion and comfort. [an epistolary novel]
