Loving You Is My Last Trench

My sweet beloved,

The days drag on, slow and sorrowful, without you. Here, no one speaks of anything other than the invasion that will take place in three days. With each bombardment, I glimpse the fate that draws near. The thick fog obscures my vision, but it does not erase the love I feel for you. My comrades fall one by one, and if destiny allows, I will name each of our children in their honor.

Today, I passed by one of those shop windows that, despite the chaos, still remain intact. It was blue—not like my tormented mind, but like that summer day when our eyes met and a rainbow tore through the sky. The distant sound of a chord evokes your silhouette in motion, bathed in moonlight. I do not know what the future holds for us, but I know that I will love you all my life, day after day, beneath the sun or through the storm. I remember the Sunday masses, the veil covering your face, your hands holding the rosary with fervor. Here, the church stands empty, but prayers echo through the ruins—where voices remain to pray.

When fear consumes me, I sing that song you used to hum, seeking freedom from the captivity of the mind. I know that women and men fight different wars: women are promised without love, and men march toward certain death, whether of the body or the soul. But we share something beyond war: love—which, at times, is another battle. Do you still keep the handkerchief I gave you? The one that adorned your hair instead of wiping away tears, for your laughter echoed miles away, and even now, the wind still carries it to me.

I can no longer doubt reincarnation. Otherwise, what would remain of life and death if not the certainty that I will find you again beyond this existence? I hope that in another life, I will not have to go to war. I hope to marry you, to have children with your eyes—dark, deep, shining like the sea at night. I wish I were a bird so I could fly to you. I would say a bee, but I know how much they terrify you.

Today, the rain fell intensely, washing the blood from the earth and bringing with it the scent of childhood. I miss the afternoons we spent under the old oak tree’s shade when time seemed infinite, and our dreams were just promises whispered to the wind. The past becomes a refuge when the present turns bleak, and in it, I find the strength to endure.

Sometimes, I think the universe is testing us. Is it to measure the depth of our love? Or simply to remind us that time does not belong to us? All I know is that each second without you is a grain of sand slipping through life’s hourglass. And I fear that the glass of this hourglass will shatter before I can return home.

I still remember the first time I held your hand. The warmth of your skin against mine made me believe that the world could stop at that moment. And now, the memory of that touch is what keeps me standing. I write with trembling fingers, not from the cold but from longing. War has taught me that the greatest suffering is not physical pain but the absence of those we love.

Today, I saw a boy playing with a piece of wood, imagining it was a horse. Even surrounded by destruction, he smiled. As if innocence were a shield against pain. I wish we could go back to being children, without fear, without guilt, without wars. Just you and me, running barefoot through the wheat fields.

If I close my eyes tightly enough, I can almost smell your perfume. Lavender and vanilla. Sweet and gentle, like your voice at dusk. Do you still wear that blue dress you loved so much? The one that twirled with you when you danced, as if you were in harmony with the spring breeze?

Sometimes, when silence settles over the battlefield, I imagine what it would be like if we could escape. Leave everything behind and start anew, far from here. We would live in a small house with a garden full of wildflowers. We would grow sunflowers because they always seek the light, just as I seek you.

The stars seem farther away tonight. Perhaps because my heart is heavy. But if there is one thing that comforts me, it is knowing that, wherever you are, you too are looking at the sky. And, in some way, that unites us, as if the vastness of the universe were merely space between two souls destined to meet.

Promise me you will be happy, no matter what awaits us. I could not bear to know that you are sad when distance prevents me from being your refuge. I still keep the Bible you gave me. It rests beside your portrait, which I look at every day, though your image is already etched into my soul. If I die, in my last breath, I will remember the day we ran through the green hills of Rolling Hills, Kentucky.

My watch stopped as I wrote this letter. If it is a bad omen, it matters little, for there is still time to say: I love you. I love you between skies and seas, crowds or taverns. I love you in all the places I have been and in those I have yet to see, in life or in memory. If time runs out for me, it will not run out for these words.

Save some molasses sweets for me, but if I do not return, eat them for me.

With love,

Your great love.