Letters [Part 4]
The SpeakeasyWednesday, November 4, 1926
Dear Bbang,
There are no stars in New York City. You’ll have to describe them for me when you come back. Yet again it made my mind think about things that are highly improbable. I know it’s going to make you sad when I tell you this because there’s no way it’d ever happen. Please, don’t feel sad. Although, we’ll always have to stay behind closed doors, being around you makes me the happiest person on earth.
But I was imagining us going to the countryside as I was reading your letter about the stars. I’m sure they’re as bright there as they are above your ship.
I want to lie on the grass next to you while looking at the starry sky. I want to hold your hand, kiss your lips and hold you close when it starts to become cold before we get up and go to a small farm to sleep there. I don’t know if anyone would let us sleep at their farm. Maybe they’d let us in the barn. I imagine sleeping next to you on the hay.
More realistically, I imagine us holding each other on the bed. Or couch. Or just anywhere. I just want to hold you so badly right now.
I’m proud of you. You’re a great seaman. Your hard work will pay off. I wish I could put it in better words how much I admire you.
I’m sorry if this letter is shorter than usual, we’re going through a rough patch and I’ve barely had any time to even sit still. I’m tired. I wish this was over already.
I miss you. Be safe.
Himchan
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