It's lonesome out here, the darkness of my tent surrounds me like a fog. As I write this I am accompanied by a single candle, its flame reminds me of you so tiny and helpless looking, yet so full of hope. Sometimes when I'm alone I take the painting I made of you, so innocent and so unbearably sweet, and I dream of a place where I didn't have to fight. Where we could just sit and get lost in each others eyes, where the sky wasn't clouded with canon powder and burned flesh, where I didn't have to go out and prove something. When I stair up at the sky, late at night, I can see constellations align to meet in such a way that I cant help but smile. They look just like you, so bright and beautiful.
Just last spring my men and I were trekking across a mountain side, we were traveling to meet France, my commander didn't entail me on what we would be doing there, other than we would do battle. When he spoke with me in his tent or chambers I suppose, he told me that people would die, more than before, more than I had hoped to lose, my soldiers, my people, my family. I fear for my men, Feli, I fear for myself, but most of all I fear for you, my dear, dear wonderful love. I cant help but think of what fate would befall you should I dissipate into oblivion. Into the annals of time, into the caverns of your memory. If I fall would you remember me? Would remember the time we spent together, painting and watching the clouds stroll by?
Would you weep? Morn over my grave? I apologize, I shouldn't ask such questions especially when I'm so far way from you. But I can't help but wonder... if by chance or by luck you find a new lover.
I promise to write again soon, I love you so very much darling.
Love, Ludovicus
