Cliches exist for a reason.

Dear #####

I hope this letter finds you in happiness and in health.It has been quite some time since I have written to you,
let alone have the pleasure of hearing your voice. Yes I remember it well.Such sweetness is seldom forgotten.
But like the light that you shone through my window, and the grace  with which you warmed my house and turned it into a home,the passion which you exuded, your voice  alas remains just a memory.

The times we spent together were arguably the best that this man could have.The walks by the stream we thought of building our house upon when we grew up someday, laying on the grass in the meadows, the laughter at evening tea by the garden of your residence after receiving my letter of acceptance,the drops of sweat that were shed in the heat of the moment, as you lay over me on the floor by the fireplace, after indulging in hours of rapturous sin that winter, Getting caught in the rain after our first and last Sunday picnic by the lake, getting locked into your father's car and not having it start, I remember all of it like it were just yesterday. It seems like a motion picture that seems to last for an eternity but finishes in a matter of seconds.

You however  would still today pretend in most probability  it was all but a dream. I say this not in spite, but bearing in mind the circumstances that you might have been victim to. The ramifications of your decisions from your perspective, I could not, have never, will never understand.Logic comes from the head and not from the heart, and we both know the one with a higher intelligence quotient.No arguments there.

But today I have realized my foolishness. My arrogance is what did me in. If I let my guard down one last time, if I confessed one last time, would we be in a different position than in what we are today? Would you have waited for me?Would we have the life we dreamed of? Would my son know of his true father?

Yes I know.You may keep a dozen secrets, but your eyes betray you when I reflect in them.I knew from the aim of his sling, from his shoelaces and other small things apart from his face, a childlike reflection of mine. A father can tell. I do not hold it against you for not admitting to me. Some things are best left unsaid. I did not come forward not because I did not care, but because I did not want to disturb the perfection of a setting that you were in; a beautiful house, with beautiful children, with a man whom you loved and trusted.One who could provide and be there in times of need.

I am grateful to him. There have been instances of mad jealousy, of obsession and hatred, sleepless nights drinking bottles dry in the hope of drowning in sorrow, where it is not the sleep that gets to me, but the empty cigar casings.This is something I will have to live with and come to terms with in healthier ways for as long as I am alive and breathing. But I am told the 82nd Airbone division has a shorter life expectancy than the rest. I might be sooner there than you think.

I do not expect a reply from you, but my heart as you know it so well, has a mind of it's own. I shall not beat about the bush any further. I have always loved you. I knew the day I came back from the store while you were chatting with your friends on the occasion of your mother's birthday. It took just one glance, one smile and one look of confusion on your part for me to drop my bags as I walked into the wall. You laughed, but I saw worry. Knowing your concern for me destroyed all the embarrassment albeit temporarily.It gave me a sense of innocent happiness I can never fully explain.

If I had a choice, I would trade everything, all my honor, all my wealth, all the medals, all the bullets, all the victories, to be just with you. I would be prepared to go into a thousand battles, suffer a thousand bullet wounds, die a thousand deaths, if I could hold you in my arms one last time, If I could have you whisper into my ear one last time, if I could perch my lips upon yours one last time, in the real world and not in fragmented thoughts that fly like bullets through the biting cold that envelops me. An endless winter that gives birth to another Autumn.

As I write this letter that I am to leave at your grave stone, with bouquet of white and yellow Primrose, your favorite as I remember it, I am overcome and overwhelmed. I feel as I  have lost everything.

I had told you once how I would  not enter the gates of heaven without you by my side, how I would wander this earth, a chained ghost, my love for you keeping me company. But alas I did not have that luxury.

I shall see you soon, and we shall have our life together again with new beginnings and new settings, or I shall die trying.We shall make the perfect memories. That I promise you, and myself. You have my word.

Yours for eternity,
****** ******