My Dear Ellen.
It is so nice to pen down your beautiful name after a long hard nine- years. Oh! How it reminded me of those precious times when I used to call your name, without any bound or fret, and you came running down to me, and lay yourself into my arms, to be let loved unconditionally. Your prettiest voice drifted me apart from the troubled world and dropped me to a deserted place where there were no souls but us. Your splendid smile crafted by those fancy bright red lips made me go wander. Your eyes, Oh! Your wonderful eyes- I remember how I was attracted to them. And I prayed to the Lord, every single good night, that I want this woman and no one else, to be my dearest wife and shall remain as my beloved till I was put to the graves.
Remember the barn, where we used to conceal ourselves, when Bernard the old farmer, saw us every time, passing through his farm. Oh Ellen! I laugh out thinking how we used to tell speculative things to our parent when he complained about our activities to them. But I ne’er told you that when the Great Drought occurred, how I felt responsible for damaging all the crops. I deplored that my activity was immoral. Half of the village was dying being hungry and I destroyed all their needs; they had nothing to eat. I felt regretful and sad, I was shameful of me, and I couldn’t let that go from my mind, from my heart.
You know Ellen, I think of those cherished times in the fair, and how we used to hold our hands and we were happy. I loved those fireworks; so colorful and bright were they. It made me happy and I thought the villagers were too. It is all gone now Ellen, all gone and nothing left. I am so tearful revisiting those memories; thinking of you makes me content, but the truth that we are not together makes me sorrowful. Sometimes I cannot understand why you are not here with me, when you are supposed to. But if that be the fact, I won’t blame you, my Dear! The Lord had made a hopeless oath to me!
And how can I forget our first dance? Under the shed of the glorious white velvet curtains, finely decorated with purple flowers, to the tune of village piper Brothers, on the wedding of Robin the young lad, you danced with me, wearing that sunflower gown. Yellow has always been my prized color and I said then and yet I say now. You were looking marvelous, more beautiful than the bride and you are a beauty. I hate the way when Alvyr was staring at you that day. He was pursuing it intentionally; he knew it would make me angry. You know, we never got along that well. We had a small argument too later. I completely stopped talking with him when I realized that he had reported to Father about us.
You might be thinking that I was scared. But my Father was not really a soft hearted person, rather my mother was. She would have understood. But to my Father, it has always been his works and the way he wanted to raise me. He could never understand me. About us. About our love. He put me through a lot of work, so that I could stay busy and I could not meet you. Those were miserable times and to me those were not any times. A day without you was not any day. Those were the darkest evil hours. You know what I did then? I tried to sleep and dreamt of you. You were everything to me Ellen, everything!
My world broke down when my Father proposed that we should leave that village. He kept me believing, that there is a better world outside that place. He wanted me to e a big man. But I did not want to go that path, because you were not there. And yet, that day, you kissed me for the first time whilst bidding a tearful goodbye. I couldn’t help myself but cry. Somewhere, in my mind I could see Alvyr, smiling behind my back, celebrating this win.
This country is all for war now, Ellen. There is practically no good human being I can see. The children don’t want to hear stories. They have had enough of reality. Why would someone tell a knight’s tale when it is happening for real? All are worried for their families, to save and protect their loved ones. Nobody talks about celebrations or farms. They talk about politics. The poor mothers are heartbroken for their brave hearted sons. They should have been living a youth life, not fighting wars!
My heart still fancies you, Ellen! Oh! I would love to see you one more time. My heart is desperate to kiss you, one last time and then we can say a final goodbye. But I don’t know where you are Ellen. Whether you are still thee for me or somebody else’s. But our love shall always be secure to me! I am scared Ellen, I’m scared to go for the war. But this country has lot of hopes from me and I will try my best to fulfill them!
May we shall reunite in Heaven, my rose..