438th AAA AW BN
APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.
Tuesday, Dec 14, 1943 1930
England
Darling Wilma –
I suppose I might as well tell you the truth; I’m horribly lonesome and my longing for you and your sweet company is beyond anything I imagined. I hate to write like this Sweetheart, but the last couple of days have seemed so utterly empty, I might as well get it out of my system. I insist I am not fundamentally unhappy because as I’ve said before, a person in love may be intermittently sad, moody, distraught or lonesome – but basically his love and its realization should make him a happy and lucky being. I feel that way, too, dear. If I didn’t – I couldn’t stand this aloneness which I guess every soldier must combat when he leaves home.
The days go by, one like the other. In this country, the blasted, gray, misty fog which apparently is always here, makes each day even more like the one it precedes or follows. I’m not really fed up with it so soon, darling, because my better sense tells me I don’t dare. I guess I’m just in love with you dear and long for you and your company. Thank the Lord for our memories. I see you all the time, near me, holding or squeezing my hand; glad to be with me as I was with you; riding around nowhere in particular but always enjoying it; visiting at your house and managing to get from the library to the living room where I could sit near you and give you what can only be described as a hurried hug; kidding with Mary and being chided by your mother for not knowing or caring about Bridge; wanting more and more each time I was with you to be alone with you, and when that was possible, enjoying it more and more; enjoying the physical contact because I knew already our intellectual desires were mutual and had wondered about the bodily –
Sweetheart – all these things come to me, over and over again; and more. Then why shouldn’t a fellow get lonesome when he has that to think about? How empty a life if that feeling doesn’t enter a person’s soul! Whatever you read into my writing, darling, please don’t get me wrong. I write this way, not to make you unhappy over my lonesomeness and not to make you feel sorry for me. If I thought either, I wouldn’t write like this. I’m just letting my thoughts come out as if you were here with me tonight and I was telling you how I felt about you and us, and life. I love you darling more than I knew. I know it’s easy to say a fellow writes a lot because he’s away. I’ve been almost as far away in the States from home as I am now, and I’ve never felt like this. I’ve merely had more time to think, and analyze my own reactions from the first night I met you – until right now. They all add up to what I’ve been writing about, dear – and I pray only that you always continue to feel about me the way you did when I left; that you’ll want me when the war is over as your husband, and that you won’t meet anyone while I’m away that will take you from me.
I remember well my reactions the first night I met you. You felt the same, I guess, dear – but on the way over to your house I said to myself “What in the world did I get a date for?” I was certain I wouldn’t have a very pleasant evening. And when I rang your doorbell, I was ready for anything. You answered the ring yourself, but I didn’t get a good look at you, but you wheeled around to get your coat and bag, and as you did I remarked mentally “Not bad!” And then we went on to have a very happy and joyous evening. And so it started and you must admit I never really let go of you until you loved me – although, darling, I remember when you accused me of being led into an ‘understanding’ with you.
It was a summer and fall, Sweetheart, that I’ll always remember, because it brought you to me and with you, a feeling I was beginning to believe I was to miss in life. Instead I am proud of you, and proud that you want to marry me. I love to refer to you as “my girl”, although I know that’s an ordinary way of putting it. In certain company, I say “my fiancée” and like to hear the fellows say, “and you, too?”
Do you think, dear, that this is all foolish prattle? Do you wonder perhaps that I never spoke this way to you and yet I write it? Remember – I was fundamentally shy and reserved in my actions and reactions – although I think I was changing fast under your tutelage. I have felt this way ever since I knew I loved you. I believe I was telling you more and more as each week slipped by. What you read, darling, is merely steady progress.
If I only had another letter or two from you, dear! Gee, some of the fellows are hearing from home more regularly than others – for some unknown reason. Today our dentist got two airmails dated Dec 1st – out of N.Y. Well – I’ll continue waiting, but I do so want to hear from you, Sweetheart!
I guess I’d better stop now, dear, and please excuse me for sounding so blue at the start of the letter. I feel better just having told you about it. I know, dear, even before I get your letters – how you must feel and I mind that more than I mind my own reactions. Cheer up, darling, we’ll make up for lost time – don’t you forget that! I’ve told you I’m very jealous of time and life and we’re going to make up for what we lost, with God’s help.
Take good care of yourself, darling, and be well. And send my fondest regards to your folks. If I haven’t mentioned them often in my letters – it’s not because I don’t think of them; it’s merely that I get so absorbed in my writing – that I finish the letter to you and that’s all I think of. So long, dearest, and you have
All my love
Greg
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