Letters to Major

Dear Major,

My love, I miss you so. It’s been 3 weeks since you left for war and my heart aches for you. I know you write back to me and are well, but I just want you back here.

Some of my friends, who also write to their boyfriends and husbands, have been preparing to move on in case they don’t come back. They go dancing with strange men and drink. They say it’s healthier… they say the heart won’t forget who they love but it helps dull the pain. At least they have a warm body next to them and someone to have fun with. I… can’t.

Men buy me drinks and talk to me. Oh, but Major, they don’t have your spark. They just don’t make me laugh like you do. They try to kiss me and I… just can’t bear their touch, because it’s not your rugged hands across my cheek or your soft lips on mine. They don’t have your adorable smile or your patient eyes; above all, they are not you.

I know you would understand if I did what they do… But I don’t want anyone else but you. Even the idea of it feels dirty and wrong. Like I am disrespecting our memories and our love. Remember when we first called each other boyfriend and girlfriend? We were going to Oxford for the day and I said “How should I introduce you?”, shyly, and you suggested “Well, I don’t know. I know I am not seeing anyone else, so how about boyfriend?”. I liked how certain you were about me… and how your “I love you” surprised me later that day. I wasn’t expecting that.

War is a terrible mistress because she doesn’t share; darling, just come back to me. My bed asks about you, about when you’ll be back to caress my back or when she can listen to your heartbeat again. I want your body next to mine. I want to make love to you. I love how when we make love, you look me in the eye and fervently whisper “Mine”. I am yours and you are mine in that moment, and I am home, safe and warm and loved.

I am certain about you still, even when you are miles away, that I love you too and don’t want to see anyone else. Desert war for me, let’s run away?

Yours, always,

Alexandra.

Ps. I’m sorry about all the tear stains. But I am not sorry to feel the way I feel. See you soon?