February 14, 10 NE
Dear Dianne,
The forefathers of Jamestown took it upon themselves to fill the storehouse to the brim. I cannot imagine which man among them saw fit to fill an entire box with Valentine's Day cards, or for what purpose, but I thank him now, because I can offer this one to you.
I thought you'd like the Norman Rockwell-esque painting on the front, of a farmer wooing his lady love. I've never heard of the artist, Gloria Stoll Karn, and I'm not nearly as young or handsome as the man depicted there, but I nevertheless thought it fitting. You pretend not to be sentimental, but I think I know you better than that.
I myself like these four blank red pages inside, because as you well know, I'm rather old-fashioned when it comes to letter writing. I need sufficient space for the words.
And yet there are no words adequate to describe how happy you have made me, or how grateful I am that you deigned to accept this humble farmer's hand in marriage. I had nearly given up hope that it was possible for a woman to exchange her heart for mine. I thought I was doomed to toss mine under foot forever.
You've loved me well in a world that makes it difficult to love. I thank you for that. I trust you'll be my Valentine for many years to come.
Yours entirely,
Gunther
P.S. I've enclosed some bobby pins and hair ties I likewise found in storage. I do believe there is nothing more erotic in this world that watching you slowly let down your hair for me alone.
