My Dearest Eleanor

My Dearest Eleanor,

The candle flickers weakly beside me as I write to you from the frontlines, where the sound of cannon fire trembles through the night. But in the silence between each shot, I think of you. I see your laughter in the golden fields of our youth, I hear your voice in the whisper of the wind, and I feel your warmth in my cold and calloused hands.

It has been months since I last held you, and the world has grown cruel in your absence. The days are long, the nights longer still, but the thought of you keeps me breathing, keeps me fighting, keeps me hoping. When I close my eyes, I imagine your arms around me, shielding me from the horrors of war in the way only love can.

I often wonder if you still sit by the old oak tree, the one by the river where we carved our names into the bark. Does it still stand, strong and proud, as our love has stood against the tides of time and fate? I dream of the day I will return to you, to trace my fingers over those letters once more, to press my lips to yours, and know that I am finally home.

The war drags on, and I have seen things no man should ever witness. I have watched comrades fall beside me, their final words barely leaving their lips before the light fades from their eyes. I have felt the ground shake beneath me as cannons roar, have seen the sky darken with smoke. And yet, in all this darkness, your love is my guiding light. Your memory is a refuge I escape to when the horrors threaten to consume me.

Each morning, before the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon, I whisper your name. It is my prayer, my promise, my plea to the heavens that I will see you again. Do you wake with thoughts of me? Do you read my letters beneath the moonlight, as I imagine you do, tracing each word with your fingertips as if to feel me through the ink?

I long to walk through the fields with you again, to feel the warmth of your hand in mine, to listen to the gentle rustling of the wind as it dances through your hair. The war has stolen so much from us—time, peace, innocence. But it cannot steal my love for you. That remains unshaken, untouched, eternal.

But should fate be unkind, should I not return, know that my love for you will outlive this war, this world, even time itself. If these hands should fail me, if this body should falter, my soul will find its way back to you. Look for me in the sunrise, in the hush of dawn, in the petals of the roses you so adore. I will always be with you, my Eleanor.

I ask of you only one thing: do not weep for me, should I fall. Instead, remember me as I was when I last held you. Remember my laughter, my whispered promises, my love that knows no bounds. And if you ever feel the wind caress your cheek, know that it is me, reaching for you across the distance, beyond life and death.

The hour is late, and the dawn will soon break. I must rest, though I know sleep will not come easy. My thoughts will drift to you as they always do, carrying me back to you in dreams where war does not exist, and we are together once more.

With all that I am, all that I have ever been,

Yours forever,

Jonathan