Letters to Sybil (3)
My dear beloved, It is you and hope that suspends the terrible dread of the magnitude of terror which ceases our camp, late at night, snatching men’s potency while they sleep covering them with an apprehensive dismay of the approaching day, where common men, must travail the tyranny of the foe. I endeavor my love, exasperating myself to comfort these poor folks who have forsaken all to fight this immoral adversary. The antagonist are much like us; they are men, but we differ in ideology and thus they have ceased to maintain their humanity. It is not our will to kill for the sake of killing, my comrades possess no lust for death, no thirst for murder, but, for the goodness of humanity, they pick up their weapons in fear and courage, fighting for country, love and family. As for me my beloved, the sweetness of returning to your table keeps me warm at night; I stare your picture before I sleep as to banish all ugliness and fear, and last night I had a dream, at most inspired by a tale I once read you of happy Adrian who was soon to enlist for war, and in a rush send a letter to his dear companion about his beguiling amity for her. These were his words:
My darling, adorable friend, I fear it is all in vain that I have loved thee - I fear it will all be blown into the wind, scattered like blown leaves away from their source of strength. I fear many fears of your response that perhaps, it may severe this honeyed friendship that I have come to revere, or perhaps, that from henceforth, you may look at me with the eyes of pity and misfortune because we cannot be. These fears are in me but the attachment I have towards you are burly; like the thumb is to the ant able to crush it without much effort. These affections have grown like a mighty tide, an unsurfable wave in the last week or so when I have been denied your perfumed sociability, and it appears that our communication has matured thin, which makes me reflect that perhaps you wish to cut the thread of this love birthed in me as to limit its negative conclusion upon my soul. It has only amassed my desires and hunger; daily do I sigh upon my swing desiring my beloved to push me high. I must tell you. I must ride upon my horse to ring your bell - for I know no longer what hour I may perish by the coming war. While you read this I shall be on my way - then I shall in a day or two depart for the war. It is a terrible indictment! But my cherished friend, feel no pity and do not accept my request on pity but on genuine love. Do not forsake your purity for me but save it for the happy soul who has captured your eye of love. Whatever answer you may give, I have resolved to fight for you. I may fight with tears or with joy, but I must tell you of this flower which has blossomed, yielding many colours and sweet fruit in my soul. Adrian.
My Love, the only fear I have, groping at my bosom is the fear of not returning to you in this life. I long to see the reality and immerse myself once again in a lively discourse with you. To sit and lie in the park, to visit aunty Mary’s bakery, to play sport with your brothers, to laugh and to dance, and most of all - to see you in white, lifting the veil, sealing our unbreakable love with the solemn words of which I shall end this letter with. I love you.