Love Short Story – To Love, With Love
Photo credit: Oleander from morguefile.com
Dear Love,
I do not write this letter in the hope that this will reach you, or be read by you in your deplorable state, but rather with the belief that the words that flow out of my pen would be shouted across Nature as testimony to my true love – the love of a heart that is not blemished by the trivial ideas of war and Nazism, but that seeks to enjoy emotion in its purest form.
I still remember our very first encounter, when you had presented me with a bunch of peonies and asked me if I would have liked to accompany you to the cinemas. I had blushed slightly, and replied sheepishly that I did not enjoy films a lot, and would rather spend a day at the library. We had exchanged looks, and had stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. It was during that eternity that I fell in love with your eyes, your smile and the way your hair was ruffled and unkempt. It might have been youthful infatuation, but I knew that stage was past when your love, abstract in its entirety, was my only food and fodder, the only reason for my living, and the only wine that tasted good.
The smell of those peonies is as fresh today as it was on the day we met – it wafts into my nostrils over all the smoke that surrounds me – and my blush is as ruddy. Perhaps it is this timelessness of moments spent in love that makes you crave for them, and I believe this was the reason I consented to go to the cinemas with you, except that it was never about the film. It never is about anything material.
Our love is the expanse of the vast blue sky,
The softness of the clouds all skimming by;
It is in the chirping of the birds,
In the sounds of Nature we find our words.
I do not know if Heaven exists, or if we will ever meet after our roles as citizens of the earth have elapsed, but I know one thing for sure. Regardless of whether we live for a hundred years or die even before this war is over, our love will live on forever. It is not in the power of the mortal devils who have distanced us to obliterate so pure a feeling – a feeling that rests in the very recesses of Mother Nature. However, I cannot help but express a basic human desire- a wish that Heaven really exists, so that I can consciously feel the security of your love once again, and allow myself to be wrapped in a warm embrace that I have been longing of late.
I do not feel hatred towards the Germans who have been exterminating us Jews. Instead, I feel pity towards them. I pity them because they fail to see the real beauty in things, because they fail to understand that there is a truer and purer world beyond the atrocities of war and injustice- a world where there is no religion, where people love each other for who they are, and where lovers sway in the purity of emotion that knows no bounds. I should count myself lucky that I live in this world far away from the artificial one, and am able to experience feelings that will not die with our bodies. It is indeed unfortunate that the Germans have to exist in such a watertight compartment, and what an irony it is! They try to put us into concentration camps without realising that they are caught within the boundaries of irrational thought themselves.
I know that it is highly unlikely that you would ever return, and it pains my heart like a thousand devils to think so. If not for the sake of me, I would have wanted you to come back for the baby which is to come this November, the one on which we have pinned our hopes of lighting up our lives. Despite all the transcendental thoughts that have been playing up in my head, I am a human being at last, and I tire of unrest very soon. I just wish things would turn back to their normal state.
There are so many things that I would like to say, so many fears that I would like to share, but my hand does not work with the vigour of my heart anymore. The amount of work they make us do every day is making me dwindle physically. I feel like my death is near, but I must have the strength to hold on; at least until I have seen our little bundle of joy safely through into the world.
Lest I should get caught in the act of writing, I end my letter now; and I end it with images of angels and unicorns in my head. Though the smoke is dense, my hope is bright; and with the strength of my love, I will keep fighting until my last breath. Here’s to a future of blissful peace!
Yours affectionately,
Patronella Schaum.
–END–
