WW1 fictional love letter

December 3rd, 1917

My Dearest ,

It is day 371 since I've found myself in this wretched war yet it has felt like you've never left my side. Come Hell or high-water, you continue to comfort, warm and revitalize my hardened heart. I write this to you from the very trenches of that same war that began over a year ago if you can believe it. The enemy still lingering about-unwelcomed, and just as ruthless as ever. You, my love, have tapdanced in the same thunderstorm in which freightens me, unexpectedly revealing that love and joy are still as real as the feelings which currently and consistently bombard my mind like enemy artillary strikes. When I'm not under attack, and have any sort of respite-I dream of my return to you with a boyish yearning while our venerable leaders continue on their warpath. As soon as I close my eyes - you softly appear to me, in vivid detail, with all your beauty and grace. The nurses over here try and appeal to our weary yet lustful minds, but I respectfully decline with mention of you, leaving them only with envy or hope that one day-they too can experience such an unrelenting devotion from a possible future lover. As the world crumbles around me, you have become my world. As my brothers-in-arms stand at each other's side, some of us do not feel whole, although unified, it is only you who can tap the ever evasive, and at times-repressed wellspring of my soul; lifting my spirits to the heavens like the angel that you are. When morale is low, I look to memories of us and the prospect of making more memories with you-as inspiration to keep trudging through the sludge and make it home to you. To love. A true love that is beyond lust, while others here can only be filled with bloodlust. Your love has overpowered my fear when nothing else could. My thoughts of you, intricately woven into this tattered tapestry seem to take the torn and dull-colored fabric of bleakness , and replace the threads with a renewed and colorful brightness which restores hope once lost, allowing me to see the Sun even when it is thickly veiled by the Fog of War which stretches to the horizon both literally and metaphorically. Coming up on that same horizon is your birthday and also Christmas which I hear there will be a 'cease fire'. While the other soldiers, friend and foe alike, will undoubtedly be escaping in the indulgences of alcohol, food and merriment- I will be writing to the love of my life, wishing you a Happy Birthday, a Merry Christmas and doing what you like most-which is flooding you with compliments and romance, and a love that is cherished and more so when we are apart. A love that can turn into a firey passion or rage , depending on the circumstances. A love that has stood the test of time and patience. I love you my darling dearest. I will write again soon.

Your hopelessly romantic husband,