Gypsy hearts

"My dearest Will,

As I sit down to write to you tonight, my heart trembles with a mix of emotions - longing, love, and the ache of your absence hoping for your well-being. Four years and ten months have passed since the day you left for the battlefield, and every moment without you has felt like an eternity.

Our little Misty, our ray of sunshine, has grown into a precocious four-year-old, full of mischief and wonder. We threw a small party for her and invited Kay and Ele.Today, Misty had fun, so much that she is fast asleep now. You know her latest obsession is tulips from painting..the one you painted for me. She adores it. She asked for them on her birthday, and when I brought her the flowers, she gazed up at me with those piercing eyes and said, 'No, Mama, you got the wrong ones.' My heart shattered into a million pieces in that instant. I told her only Papa knows where those tulips grow. So, now she is looking forward to it.

I have so much to say but it seems like this paper can't contain it all. The world has changed so much since you left, but my love for you remains constant, a beacon of light, a hope for our reunion.

Come back to us, my love, come back safe and sound. Until then, know that you are etched in my soul, forever and always.I love you.

Yours, now and forever,

Lia"

This wasn’t the first letter she had penned, fueled by the desperate hope that it would somehow find its way to her beloved husband, Will. Though the roads were treacherous, and the usual channels of correspondence lay in ruins, the King's decree offered a glimmer of solace. The royal post rooms, those bastions of connection, remained open. The mails were collected and stored in order to be sent to the recipient until the exchange paths were resumed.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, many lost faith. The silence was oppressive, the stillness a heavy shroud that suffocated the heart. But not for some people like Dahlia. She wrote on, her words a testament to the enduring power of love.

With each letter, Dahlia poured out her very essence, a tender tapestry of her daily existence. She chronicled every mundane detail about family and friends and their every fleeting joy, and every sorrow, as if to bridge the vast expanse between them. The village, once a tranquil haven, now a desolate landscape without his presence, was brought to life through her words.

And yet, amidst this outpouring of soul, a silence lingered. A silence that spoke volumes. For in every line and every phrase, Dahlia never dared to ask the question : 'How are you, my love?' She wanted to hear the answer directly from his mouth and confirm it with her own eyes.So, instead, she offered a prayer, a whispered entreaty to the universe: 'I hope you are doing fine.' A poignant expression of her deepest longing, a plea to the unknown to keep him safe, to hold him close, until the day they would be reunited.

With a heart full of hope and a soul on fire, Dahlia set out once more to entrust her deepest thoughts to the post house next morning. Little did she know, fate had other plans. As she hastened towards the town, a murmur of excitement began to build. 'The army, victorious in their quest, was returning home, their triumphant march a symphony of liberation.'

In this moment of unbridled joy, Dahlia's feet seemed to move of their own accord, her pace quickening with every step. The familiar green fields, once a soothing balm for her weary soul, faded into the background, their tranquility eclipsed by the turmoil of emotions within. For today, she was driven by a singular purpose: to reach the post house, to claim the letter that would change everything.

Would it be there? Would his words, penned in her honor, finally find their way into her eager hands? She had way too many questions to ask. The uncertainty was almost too much to bear, yet she pressed on, her heart afire with anticipation. The world around her melted away, leaving only the thrum of possibility, the promise of reunion, and the ache of longing.

*Neigh* the sound of horseshoes pounding the earth grew louder, a rhythmic drumbeat that echoed the racing of her heart. And then, like a whispered prayer answered, a voice, worn weary from the trials of war, yet unmistakable in its tender timbre, called out to her.

“Lia...”