Chapter 29

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Jennie,

Today was a good day. They're rarer than you'd think, over here, but it was good and it felt like a small victory. It'll sound silly to you, one of those things that isn't really funny unless you're there for it, but one of the Sergeants had a Private walking all around camp for three hours to find his canteen that he misplaced. He had to ask everyone and everything if they'd seen it; I can assure you that in the middle of the desert, watching an adult man ask a car, a rock and a gun if they'd seen his canteen was enough to have everyone slacking off to enjoy it. Can you believe my idea of fun has gone from movie dates and hiking with you to watching stupid people get ordered to do stupid things?

It was a good day, but it made me miss you more because of it. Right now, I'm writing this outside with a flashlight as I look up at the stars. They're the same ones as they are back home, and I never thought I'd find the Big Dipper comforting, but it is. It makes me sad that we're not looking up at the same sky though; it'll be before noon there.

Jen, it's so hot these days. I wonder how you're doing. I hope you've eaten breakfast. I hope the people around you know to make sure you've eaten, that you don't stay cooped up in your office all the time. You tell me you're sleeping when we talk, but there's a part of me that knows you're lying. You look tired and I know I should tell you that, but I hate to waste our calls nagging you over it. Look after yourself for me, okay? It makes it more bearable to know you're doing fine without me.

I can't tell you much, but there's talk of some big operations and I don't want you to worry. I know I'm in the thick of it, trailing after everyone with a notepad to write down what's happening, but things are going well this time. I don't think I've ever been further away from the fighting in all of my deployments as I am now. I hope that makes you worry less. Knowing you, it probably won't, but I want you to know it's boring stuff. Without the books you send and endless games of solitaire and gin rummy, I think I would've lost my mind by now.

But it's almost a month in now. I'm sure you know that, but I've been ticking it off on my little calendar, and aside from talking to everyone back home, it's the highlight of my day. Each cross in each box brings me one day closer to seeing your face and holding onto you as tight as humanly possible. Eight months feels like a lifetime away, but just think about how fast the past few weeks have gone (just pretend, for me - I know they've dragged) and think about how soon we'll see each other again.

Just think, there's going to be a point in our lives where we wake up beside each other every morning, where we wake up in our house with our dog and our little life, and this will all feel like a bad dream. Until then, I'll have to miss you every day. I know I still get to see you on the screen, but it doesn't feel the same, and as beautiful as you are, I don't think the camera does my memory justice. Neither do the photos I brought with me, the ones I keep in my pocket, right next to my heart so I can feel like you're with me. I've enclosed some that I've taken here, of the camp and the boys and the desert. It's all boring and dry and we're all getting by, but I like taking them all the same, in case anything happens. I want the people I love to look back and see evidence of my life, of it being lived, loved and celebrated. That's why I take so many of you when I'm home. You're proof that I haven't always been completely alone in this world.

I should probably sleep now, or I'll be the one getting yelled at in the morning and being made to do stupid things for the amusement of other stupid people. At least when I wake up, I'll have another box to cross through and I'll be one day closer to the day I'm home for good. Please say you'll wait for me to come home. I love you.

Yours always,
Rosie

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