The Impossible ||| l.h

★彡Kapital 7

Sie/Her

March 21,1943

Frankfurt, Germany

Dear Birgitta, February 21,1943

I love you. You don't realize how long I've been wanting to tell you in person. But, unfortunately, I won't be able to tell you in person until the was is over. I will tell you, soon. We have these anti-Nazis wrapped around our finger. My company just left our post in Stalingrad. Well, whats left of our man. I'm so glad that my commanding officer deemed me one of the men to go get supplies from a post nearby. Thankfully, I missed all the fighting. The Soviets have strong forces. Our army will always be better, though. even though we lost. But we will win the ext battle, and the war.

To be honest, war is a little more gory than I had imagined. But it is all worth it for a world ruled by Hitler.

I long for your touch, Birgitta.

Coincidently, the other day, Rolf and I were sitting next to each other, not saying a thing. Then, as if it was planned, we both said we miss our girls. I do Birgitta, I really do.

How are things back home, darling? Has anyone else joined the fight? How is my family?

Could I make a confession? I write you more than I do my family. I wrote them one letter since I left. Now you just tell them everything. You do tell them, right?

I must end the letter here. My commanding officer said if we want any letters mailed we have to give it to him now.

I love you, Birgitta.

Yours Forever,

Luke

I sigh as I finish the letter. Oh, how I missed him so.

I slowly crawl out of the tree I was in. My tree. No, our tree. The tree that Luke and I climbed as children, I once fell and he caught me.

Once I get down, I look at the letter once more. I frown once I see the small detail in the top right corner. February 2nd. Almost a month ago. That means my letter won't get there for awhile, either.

I sigh again as I begin the walk back home. Luke's been gone for about 5 ½ months. He's only written about thirteen times total since he left. Honestly, I don't know if he's still alive. The letters always seem to come a month late. No, he's alive. I know he is. I mustn't think of such things.

I will write a letter back once I get home.

I kick the ground as I approach my home, thinking. I walk up the stone steps and open the wooden door. I call for Opa, alerting him that I am home, and run upstairs to my room to write the letter.

I take off my jacket and shoes and plop into the wooden chair. Reaching for a pencil and paper, I think how I should begin the letter.

Dear Luke,

No, to over used.

Darling Luke,

No, too similar to dear.

My Loving Luke,

Yes, that's the one.

My Loving Luke,

I love you as well, my darling. You do not realize how much I want you back home. I am glad to hear you are well, though. Even though we all (especially us girls) miss you at home, we are glad you are fighting for out freedom.

But... May I confide a secret in you? I am slightly skeptical on some Nazi ideas. But, overall, I agree. Enough about politics and war, I just want to forget we are even in one.

Let's take about us. Our plans for when you return. Our family. What we want to name our children. I personally like the name An

"Birgitta!" Opa yells.

I look up from my paper, dropping my pencil. I never heard Opa yell like that, so I knew something was wrong.

I ran as fast as I can down the stairs, only to find Opa on the kitchen floor, clutching his chest.

"Opa!" I yell, rushing over to him. I look at him not knowing what to do. Liz. Liz would know what to do.

"Opa, let me get Liz..." I say, frantically getting up.

"Bir-gitta... stop..." he says, barely getting the words out. "Don't... leave."

"You need help." I say through the tears sliding down my face. "I don't know what to do!"

"There's... nothing anybody... can do." He says, holding his chest harder.

"Birgitta, come...here."

I sit next to him and he grabs hold of me with one hand.

"You are a beautiful... young girl. You and Luke... will be happy. Listen... to my words, Birgitta." He says, shakily. "Don't be one of... the crowd."

"What? Opa, you need help!" I say.

"No, listen... You... must... not be-" his word die off as he slowly closes his eyes.

"Opa?" I whimper. No answer.

"Opa!" I cry, shaking him. "No, Opa, you can't die!" I realize he was almost 90, but he can't leave me. Not him too. "Opa, don't leave me. Don't leave me alone!" I yell, crying into his shoulder.

"No..." I whisper.