30 Days

Addr: Miss Marjorie Hayne

Salem, Oregon
March 8, 1942

Dearest Marge:

Gee, but it’s a long time since 10:30 last night! I came on in and went right to bed, but I certainly couldn’t go right to sleep on account of you. I relived the whole evening, and then thought of the future. Rather, I dreamed of the future, because I thought of what I wanted the future to hold for us. There’s too much standing between us and the future I’d like to give you, but it’s really fun dreaming. Perhaps something will happen to make at least part of those dreams come true, and if only a small part of the dreams I’ve had about us should materialize, we’d be the happiest people in the world. Up until the past few weeks, I was inclined to look at the present world situation rather from an impersonal standpoint. I mean that my part in it meant no more to me than if I were only part of a big machine. There was no reason for me to make any plans for the future. I was content to wait until everything was over, and then think of what I should do. But now, I want more than I can say, for the war to be over soon, so I can get right to work and make you happy. If our acquaintance to date has made you one tenth as happy as it has made me, I’m glad. I’m more than glad, but I lack the words to properly express myself. It’s when I write or speak to you that I wish I had mastered the king’s English to the point where I could really tell you my feelings without feeling as though something were lacking.

My style of writing and my vocabulary just don’t fill the bill when I wish to properly describe you and how I feel about you. From the very moment we met, something seemed to draw me to you. Something inside me told me that you were someone I’ve always wanted to know. If you only knew what a peculiar feeling I get whenever I think of you. Something happens inside me that is hard to describe. It seems like my heart grows too big for my chest, and it seems to expand right up into my throat. I’ve heard it said that the definition of love was that it was “an itching sensation around the heart which couldn’t be scratched,” and that is what I have right now. I know this may sound somewhat far-fetched to you, inasmuch as we’ve only known each other for exactly 30 days, but it seems as if I’d known you for years. Had someone told me that this could happen to me as suddenly and completely as it has, I’d have laughed, long and loudly. Just take a look at me. I’m the guy who thought he was immune to such sentiments as I now harbor. They say we live and learn, and I seem to have learned something about myself in the past 30 days. It’s a strange sensation, but I like it more than I can express. Wish I could write as a song to fit the situation.

I must close now, dearest little princess, and get to bed. Please try to think of me often, and remember that I love you.

Your
Jim

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