A Letter That Won’t Live to See the Reunion

February 15, 1944

My Dearest Lily,

I sit here in the dim light of a flickering candle, my chest heavy. It’s February again, and though the calendar marks this day as just another ordinary one, I can’t think of it that way. The distance between us chokes me. The thought that I’m here and you’re there, in that quiet house on the hill, makes my heart ache more than I thought possible. I wish I could be with you, hold you close, and tell you that everything will be alright, even though I’m not sure it will be.

The war goes on, and I know you understand it as well as I do. The letters I send you, I hope they reach you, though delays and uncertainty make me feel that my words might get lost in the void. But I write them anyway, even when I’m not sure if these letters will ever find their way to you. Just the act of taking pen to paper somehow brings me a little peace. At least I know that in this moment, when my hand touches the paper, I am still connected to you. In this madness, I hold on to the small act of writing to you like a lifeline.

There are things I can’t tell you, Lily, things I wish I could spare you from. I’ve seen more death in the past few months than I ever wanted to—soldiers who once were alive, laughing, dreaming, and now… now they are just names on lists or fading memories that disappear quicker than I can hold onto them. The faces of the men I’ve lost are forever etched in my mind, haunting me every time I close my eyes. I won’t go into detail, but please, understand that it’s not easy carrying these burdens, especially knowing there’s someone back home who loves me and waits for my return. Every time I lay my head on the pillow, I think only of you—how your voice sounds when you say my name, how you smile when you see me after a long day, how your hand feels in mine. I carry these thoughts with me, Lily. They are all I have. They keep me going.

I know I promised you I would be careful. But you see, there’s nothing careful about this. It’s chaos, it’s brutality, it’s the unknown. Every moment is a gamble. I think of you every time we go out on patrol, every time I hear distant gunfire. You are the reason I keep going. You are the reason I haven’t lost my mind in this madness. When I look out at the dark horizon, I imagine you waiting for me, and that image is what drives me through the fear and the chaos. If I didn’t have you to come back to, I don’t know what would be left to fight for. I find myself clinging to the thought of your face, your arms, the warmth of your touch. That’s what gets me through the day.

And still, I wonder, will I return to you whole? Will the man who left you months ago be the same when I come back? I’m afraid I won’t be. I fear that all these things I’ve seen, these horrors I can’t forget, will leave a mark on me in ways I can’t predict. There are days when I think I won’t be able to look you in the eye, Lily, because how can you love a man who has seen so much ugliness in this world? How can you love someone whom this war has shaped? I wonder if I will be able to share everything I’ve witnessed, everything that has changed me, without causing you pain. How do I explain the things I’ve seen, the emotions I’ve had to suppress? How do I tell you about the men who never made it back?

But even with that fear, I find hope in one simple truth: I will return to you. I have to. There is no other way for me. You are the light I need to find my way out of this dark place. When I close my eyes at night, I see your face, your eyes looking at me with such love, such understanding, and I remember why I keep fighting. I fight because you are waiting for me. You will always wait, won’t you? Your love is my compass. Your voice, the one thing that calms my heart amidst this madness, is what I hold onto when the days feel too long, when the nights feel too dark.

Please, Lily, I ask you, don’t worry about me too much. I know it’s hard, especially in light of everything happening in the world. But remember, I hold onto the thought of you—of us—until the day I can come home. This war can’t last forever, though sometimes it feels like it might. Someday, we’ll look back on this and realize it was just a chapter in our lives, a chapter we’ll close with the greatest relief. I can almost taste the sweetness of that moment when I’ll finally be able to hold you again, to feel the comfort of your embrace and forget the harshness of these days. I dream of that moment, Lily. Every day.

I can’t promise that when I return, I will be perfect. But I can promise that I will return whole, for you. I will come back, and we’ll begin again, and we’ll make up for all the moments that were lost while I was here. I’ll kiss you again, I’ll hold you again, and I’ll never take for granted the simple joy of being near you. I know I’ll cherish every second of it. I won’t ever let the war steal those small, beautiful moments from me again.

Here, among the guys, they joke, they laugh, but I see it in their eyes. They think of their families, their loved ones. There is nothing here that reminds me of home, but there is something in the thought of you, Lily, that feels like home, the home I long to return to. Every time I think of you, I feel like I find the strength to make it through another day. You are my anchor in this storm, the one thing that keeps me steady when everything else around me is falling apart.

Oh, and before I go—please, take care of yourself. Don’t let the worries of this war eat you up. I know how strong you are, but you need rest too. I’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll survive this, and one day we’ll be together again, and this will all just be a memory. Until that day, please hold onto your faith, your hope, and know that I am holding onto them too. I will come home to you, Lily. I swear it. I will.

Forever yours,

Harry

This letter was found in an archive after the war had ended, on one of the fronts, where it never reached its recipient. He never returned home, leaving only memories and traces on the pages that were, unfortunately, never heard by the beloved woman. This moment is just one of many when words of love never reached their intended recipients. This letter never made it to Lily, but it continues to live on, reminding us of those who fought and never returned, leaving an empty space in the lives of those who loved them. Like many others, this letter remained unanswered, carried away by war and time, but its memory will live on in the hearts of those who survived…