Page 4 of An Agreement with the Soldier (Necessary Arrangements 2)

No Answer.

November 14th, 1812

Dear Soldier,

As I write this, I realize that this is the last letter I shall ever address to you. It is silly, truly, and nobody understands my determination to have this one sent out. I know you will not receive this missive, neither will you ever read it. Nor have you read any of the letters I’ve sent you in the last three months. You are gone and no amount of correspondence is going to bring you back.

But I feel like I can’t move on without saying these last words to you. The last farewell. I’ve been writing these letters to you most of my life. What shall I be doing now in the dead of the night when I can’t sleep? Who shall I be describing the trivialities of my life to? To whom shall I be drawing my silly little sketches?

I’ve failed you.

All this time, you’ve called me your Angel, but what kind of Angel loses its charge? What kind of Angel keeps sending optimistic letters into the void when her soldier is long gone from this world?

The ache in my heart from missing you will never truly heal. But with these last words, I let you go. You called me your Angel, but I could not bring you home. Now, as you watch me from the skies, can you tell me: What do the real angels look like?

Forever,

Your Angel

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