*a collaboration by: mydarlingwhispers & the-mind-of-rueberry First Kisses - (letters one of four)
6, Mar. 1862
…and yet there are times, my heart, I can barely rise to the new day.
I do miss you so, wife.
This war may have imposed itself upon us all, and with it caused much
horror in the name of a greater good, yet, I can not help but wonder, as I lay here beneath familiar stars in this foreign place so far from you, if my greatest battle is yet to come.
There are times, moments, my soul begins to fear I may not come home, and I am stricken with great trepidation.
My love, I so desperately long for the day I shall hold you again. Rarely, do I think of anything other. I am lost in this most cruel an absence.
Today, I killed a man. Though there have been many others, this man seems inclined to haunt me. I see his riddled corpse wherever I chance to gaze longer than a moment. I have begun to fear that perhaps God has cursed me for my part in these
horrific murdering’s of our fellow countrymen. Do pray for me. Should I die here, surely, it will not be long, thereafter, I take my rightful place in hell’s eternal fire to atone for what I have done, and will do again. I do not believe that any of us in this dastardly campaign shall find absolution for our sins, however.
No just God could see fit to forgive the things we have been compelled to commit in the name of right, nor sanction our justifications. These heinous multitudes of unspeakable acts have become far too many. Not I nor any other shall leave this war, standing or dead, unaccountable. I shall carry on and do my best to continue breathing the foul stench that has become my lot. I shall continue to tell my soul that I am a good man, and that this mayhem I do I do for a higher call. I must. As long as you are out there in the world I am able to convince myself of such self deception.
I miss you dearest love. My heart beats only for you, and I dream of that glorious day this purgatory I call home shall cease to be, and I find myself again in your arms.
Still, I wonder, what manner of man will I be when I return to your loving embrace?
18, June 1862
Ah, but there are haunts in my dreams, where a faceless man stands before me with grey skies in vivid dim, the mourning shine echoing in my heart where it be…wandering lost and alone with my own fear, over and over. Wicked winds catch my breath, as a sudden stir and heeded warning, amongst all the faceless soldiers that march upon the earth in front of me, and nye a face in the crowd I recognize. God, if there be a God, has taken you away from my heart. How much longer can I maintain my strength and look up at these stars with you no where in sight? The voice of death is all around us, and I find my tears dripping from my eyes at the mere thought of never again touching your skin to mine. Dim are these words, I know, blossoming into frigid phantoms. I am sorry. I shall reserve these moments for golden words from me here, not some dreadful doom of dreams I see in the night. I do apologize. I have a bit of good news. Every night Mrs. Woodbrush plays the piano and sings beautiful melodies, like an angel’s breath, pure and lovely, and for awhile it takes my mind away from doubt upon the dusky loom… I sometimes wish I could sing like that, if It not for the midnight allure capturing my eyes by the glow of her moon where my life of love distributes rapture in this dastardly soul I call my own. I hold your words tightly to my breast, and breathe them in closely to inhale your heart. I would be lost in the still dawn of hope. I will wait patiently to feel your breath. I know you are not imagined in these depths of longing; rest assured of my love.