Finn, my love,
Nothing much to report, but I promised I'd keep writing no matter what.
The city looks so different under all this snow. Its quieter, somehow. More peaceful. I went to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller centre. Standing underneath it, looking up at all those lights that shame the stars themselves, I heard your voice so clearly… "That is one humungous ass tree!"
It's all so pretty and festive and gay, and it's lovely. Really.
But there's a melancholy in the air.
It's not just me. I see it in the faces of the people I pass in the street. News of the war isn't helping, of course, but I think it's more than that. Most of the people who live in New York have left their families behind to chase their dreams, and Christmas… well, if it's not about family, what is it about?
I saw Toothless Joe again. He was sleeping on the sidewalk outside the Paramount on 48th Street, just across from the theatre where Phantom of the Opera has had its home for so many years. I took him to a shelter my friend Matt runs in Alphabet City. He was ranting most of the way. Something about a missile made of pigs. But then he said he remembered me. I was the girl with the big dreams and sad eyes.
I think I'm just going to stay in tonight. A bunch of kids from school invited me to a few parties. But a night with some hot cocoa, a re-run of It's a Wonderful Life, and the photo you sent sounds like a better idea.
I keep the photo under my pillow. You look so handsome in your uniform. So… manly.
So very Finn. My Finn.
Just like I'm your…
Rachel.
Merry Christmas.
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