Little sweetheart,
For to me you will always be a little girl, and, my dearest, such a sweet little girl. Do you know that I have always been half afraid to touch you? You have made me feel as though you were—not exactly fragile, but like a delicate and precious thing with which great care should be taken. Besides that I used to be, and still am, in awe of you. Am I not giving you a plethora of two-edged weapons to turn on me?
The letter I received from you today has become one of my treasures, to be kept as long as I live. And for that long at the very least, my darling, I shall continue to love and worship you. The thing which has happened to me in the last couple of months is the very finest (note superlative) that has ever come to pass in my whole life—or that could have.
Somehow or another though your letter left me feeling a little disappointed. Perhaps I read meanings into it which weren’t there. I hope so. [illegible] I actually dread the the thought of spending the long months until next June while seeing so little of you. You are very sensible about the whole matter, and I’m not, but seemingly it can’t be helped. We were foolish—admittedly—yet I had resolved not to act like I have again. The whole thing was my fault, since I should have thought more of you than to allow my feelings to get the upper hand. Never think that I haven’t reproached myself; still, reproaches mend no broken crockery. As for my standing, I’ll only try the harder to maintain it—I do so want you to be proud of me, little as I deserve it. However, I shall never fight with you—it can’t be done—although it’s certain I shall spend some lonely evenings unless you change your mind before school starts. Please do believe that you have nothing to fear from me, or shall ever have. Every word I told you was the truth, I couldn’t give you that reason for always reproaching yourself and me. If I seem to run on and to be sort of incoherent at times try to overlook it, I’m really a lot like a little boy—no sophistication, wear my heart on my sleeve, fancy things that hurt me, and, dear heart, I love you so much that the very thought of losing you terrifies me. Do you know what I was thinking of the other day? Something or another made me think of the inevitability of death, and I was rather afraid of it for the first time. I’ve always thought I could meet death as calmly and unafraid as I can face sleep, but that is changed now, and the reason is that death—and death alone—will part us. And that will be such an irrevocable separation that the thought of it makes my throat ache, and tears come to my eyes. If it wouldn’t be a selfish wish I should hope that you would outlive me, for then I should at least be spared seeing you die and leave me. Perhaps this train of thought is morbid; after all the glorious years we shall spend together we should be ready to travel on along that new road, but I should prefer to have you by my side. Don’t you suppose that the wish for the company of those one loves has been in some measure father to the belief in immortality? However that may be, life will never be the same again for me without you.
I sent the card in with my letter to the P.O., but it was dated Aug. 8, and postmarked. As for the letter from my mother, it was sent some time ago, in fact she said she had sent it when she wrote the answer to my letter telling her the news about us. I’m almost sure that I gave her the wrong address, for there is a sneaking suspicion in the back of my head that Waterman became Westminster when I wrote to her—and I’ll be hanged if I know why.
We are going to have to use paper dishes and throw them away, since I too like to cook, but hate to wash dishes. However, that will all come out in the wash, as the laundryman said.
You would be surprised at the eagerness with which I await your letters. I don’t leave the house until after the first mail in the morning, and I try to arrange my work so I can come back at 2:30 to see if there is any word from you—your letters usually come in the afternoon.
Kiss that spot on your finger for me once in a while. Your lips will have to wait until later, but I shall save every caress and deliver it in person as soon as you are back in St. Louis. How I long for that time to come, my dearest. And that is on account of how,
I love you so,
Harold