A Letter

Dear Love,

it is tough here, with the dirt and dust and rain and then the mud. And the cold, always the cold, which would not so bad if not for the wind, but it is a rare moment when one is without the other.
Then there is the death, the smell and the sight and the fear, it hangs in the air like some sickly fog. The ones we knew in past times so gay, now lay as if sleeping. They remind us of how terrible a place this is, as if it were needed, with the memories of our past and what the future holds. They seem to whisper, and it is comfort they seek to impart, but I fear as their numbers grow so shall the whisper become a deafening roar.

Each day passes painfully slow as we fight to live, fight to fight and fight to kill and sleep and eat and breath and wake, only to repeat the previous day with a new number.

It seems impossible from this hell that the place where I once held you and kissed you and made love to you still exists or ever did. It seems only to be a lovely dream I once had, when I still dreamt. Of the picture you sent. The one that I kept in my pocket closest to my heart. The same one that eased my mind and warmed my heart and helped remind me that you do exist, well I am afraid that it too has succumb to time and the elements. A fate I fear for myself.

So all I have now are the memories, memories that are fading due to the constant gunshots, death, screams, and general madness of this place.

I can no longer remeber you face, no matter how hard I try, it has left me as well. My love for you is as strong as ever, it is all that keeps me going. I want nothing more in this whole damn world than to feel your skin and hold you tightly, breathe in your perfume. Instead, here I sit, living minute to minute never knowing what the next day may hold. I will love you forever and with that love comes the realization that I will never taste your breath or feel your warmth or look into your eyes again, and so I must say goodbye, please understand and be well.

Goodbye.