A Letter of Long Days

A Letter of Long Days
My Love,
The days are long.
Clara often asks about you. She wonders sometimes, and I do not know what to tell her. I never know what to tell her.
She is growing up quickly. She is clever and creative: she takes after her father.
I love her very much, but I worry whether I am raising her properly. It is difficult. I am uncertain and I doubt myself constantly, but Margaret, bless her, helps us get by. She watches after Clara, while I work. I know you will not like the thought of me working (you always were an old-fashioned soul), but the war has changed many things, including this. I am a teacher for the third grade at North Pine Elementary. Although some of the students may not be very well-behaved, they generally are wonderful children.
What else is there to tell you? As I have said, the war has changed many things. Many of the boys who went to the war never came back. Their widows are left with children and tattered pictures and final letters and dog tags. We slowly are rebuilding and forgetting and recovering, but the ghosts still linger here. The ones that do come back are haunted: you can see the horrors in their eyes, and they neither look nor act whole. Everything has changed. For better or for worse, I do not know.
The days are long. I miss you, and I look forward to the day we reunite. Yet, there still is much to do here, so please, dear, be patient. I have you in my thoughts and dreams always.
Ever yours,
This was sort of an attempt at minimalism. I wanted to write something that kind of mirrored Ernest Hemingway’s writing style (I read some short stories of his in English and learned a lot about the Lost Generation in my history class), and although it definitely is not fully like his pieces, I, at the very least, wanted to write something with hidden details that are hinted at in the writing. Hope it was successful!

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