For Adaline

8th July 1917
28th Division
Pas-De-Calais
France
                                                                                                                                           Miss Adaline Hinkle
                                                                                                                                           14 Stophill Road
                                                                                                                                           Canterbury
                                                                                                                                           Kent
                                                                                                                                           England
My darling Ada,
                       My writing time is limited; evening is drawing ever closer, and I must hasten my inking in order for this message to reach you in a somewhat decipherable condition. Please forgive me for the tumultuous scrawl of my scripture. The candle slowly burns at both ends, and the light it provides is slowly but surely fading. Tomorrow, with optimism in our stride and patriotism in our grasp, we continue this battle -- a continuation which will, inevitably, end soon -- for I sense that our suffering will cease; not in the dignified death of a fallen brother, but more so in a monumental victory for our division, our country, and most importantly, for you, my love.

I hope you are keeping well. It is not customary for me to consume any written article with a lengthy description of my own doings, however, I am aware of the need to provide the immediate sense of reassurance that you crave. I can so realistically, so truly feel the barbed edges of your ever-bitten fingertips whilst they wipe the liquid petals that all too often now fall from your eyes. Those eyes were always a little red in the weeks prior to our departure for France. I pray that you’ve learnt to revert them back to the dazzling splendour of their usual opal vert, regardless of your circumstances. Tell me, my darling girl, do you still wake up at five o’clock every Sunday morning to catch the sunrise, before visiting Czecchi’s bakery for your favourite cherry gelatine tart? Do you still visit the Old Jack Hall, and waltz to Chopin and Debussy with their Number Nines?
I must apologise for this; I do not wish to worry you, nor do I intend to taint your spirit, but it is only through these memories -- these visions, these such greatly treasured spectacles of pure, unadulterated happiness -- that my brothers and I can so tenuously grapple to a singular sense of normality in this world so dark. 

The candlelight is slowly fading, purest Ada. I must leave you here, in whichever spot you please. Each and every flicker of an ember - whether it be from the smouldering candle by my elbow, or by the German fire that so frequently releases the poison dart - will be seen to extinguish, with the same inevitability of the sheer level of undeniable, eternal, mind-body-soul-consuming adoration that I have for you, and only you.The pocket of my undershirt contains the picturehouse portrait we took on that memorable night last July; for it is in this location that the contents of such a pocket can be held closest to the heart.
Please, my love, hold out. Never cease to hope, dream, and believe. This battle will be won, and my brothers and I will make sure to do our damned hardest to emerge victorious.
When that happens, who will be the singular presence within my mind?
You, darling. And only you. Please, I beg of you, never forget this.

                                                                                                                                    Yours forever,
                                                                                                                                    H.