The War Brought Us Together, And The War Will Separate Us

Addr: Miss Marjorie Hayne

Salem, Oregon
March 4, 1942

Dearest Marge:

I told you I’d write you a letter last night, and I did, but it was such a pitiful specimen that I didn’t have the nerve to mail it this morning, so I’ll start again. I got called away about five minutes after starting it, and never got back until just before lights out.

Suppose they told you that I called tonight. I had to go to a meeting at 6:30, which lasted until 8:30, so I couldn’t call back.

I got down town today, and bought my Dad a birthday present, finally.

Carl (Duke) was talking to me today regarding our going someplace tonight, but the meeting came up, and as we really hadn’t made complete plans, nor had we arranged with you and Loretta, I just dropped all thoughts of going out. Wish I could have talked to you on the telephone tonight. I sort of hate to confess that I’ve missed you terribly ever since about 10:15 Monday evening. Talk about having someone on my mind! You really captured me for fair, whether you intended to do so or not.

I’ve thought of several other places for us to go on our trip ’round the world, so we can plan on it being a little longer than the one we talked over the other night. Just lotsa places we never even mentioned. Do you think we could take them all in?

You’ve certainly taken over a big share of my daily thoughts. I know I’m silly, but I do wish we had met sooner, and could be together more often, but I also feel that I’m very lucky to have met you at all, and that the time I have spent with you is just as much heavenly time I’d have missed were it not for the present world situation. As you remarked, the war brought us together, and the war will separate us. But, as far as I’m concerned, the war can only separate us bodily; because no matter where I am from now on, you’ll be on my mind. However, I have learned, since being in the army, to live for the moment, and let the future take care of itself. There’s no sense in letting the prospects of the future darken our present happiness. (I’m speaking for myself, hoping that our acquaintance has made you at least one-tenth as happy as it has me.) So, I propose that we should enjoy each other’s company while we can, thinking of the future only through rose colored glasses.

I know this letter may sound absolutely ridiculous to you, but I’ve so many things to say to you, and find them to be awfully hard to express. So far, I’ve tried telling them to you orally and by the written word, but I can’t seem to say all these things as fluently either way as I’d like to say them. Somehow, all efforts up to now have seemed to be inadequate. I do intend to keep trying until I feel that I have fully expressed myself, but each effort has left something to be desired, and I can’t quite place where the deficiency lies. Please bear with me until I can stop my head from spinning long enough to get my bearings, and perhaps I can find the words to properly express myself.

If you’ve read this far, your poor head is probably spinning, too, on account of trying to figure out what I’m trying to express. I have a feeling deep down inside me that we understand each other better than either of us realizes, so why am I going in circles trying to put my ideas across?

I’m afraid to read this for fear that I won’t mail it after reading it, so if it sounds all cockeyed to you, blame Fate for bringing us together, and getting me in this condition. I could talk and write forever without telling you all I want to tell you, regarding my feelings toward a certain beautiful, sweet, personable, charming, glorious person named Marge. There never has been anything written, spoken or sung which would fully express my feelings in this matter, so how can I, just a common, everyday person, hope to do better?

I must close now, as I’m getting more confused in what I’m trying to say with each moment that passes. I hope the tone of this letter will give you an idea of how I feel, even though the composition may be confusing.

Goodnight, little Princess.

With love,
Jim

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