The Red Veil

My Dearest J,

In an earlier letter I had stressed, albeit prematurely and dramatically, that I had been worried whether or not you are alive or dead. This isn't the case. Sometimes I get swept up in emotions and really sets in the anxious worries of a woman. I confess I do not escape these. I know you are alive, my dearest, for I can feel your heart beat as ever real as my own. Although the truth be is that I do not know if you are back on the war front of that devastating place. That devastating place which, because of you, will always hold a special place in my heart. A place where I had no intention or curiosity to visit before, I now yearn to walk the sands and wear the veils and maybe someday see where you had sat up in your bed for hours on end writing me those letters. I still cherish very item you have shipped to me from that exotic place. The red burqa which rests on my nightstand, a place where I see it every morning when I wake up and every night before I fall asleep. Another memory of you that constantly replays in my mind. 
You had remembered that red wasn't my favorite color, but for some reason the color has chosen me and somehow associates itself with me and has done so throughout my years on this Earth. You had picked red because it follows me, because it is the color of love, because it was your favorite color, because it was our color. 
I know that visiting the exact place where you lay your head to rest must sound a little improbable, for you had always written in the letters, "I can't tell you where I am," and, "I cannot say where I am going." But, my love, stranger things have happened, and in my short life on this Earth I have learned that nothing, and I mean nothing, is impossible. For after all, we are a tiny colonization pushing papers and worshiping idols among a floating blue rock. The word has no meaning to me, for impossible in itself, is false. 
Good God, listen to me. I am rambling. My intention of this letter was to correct a mistaken passage I had so fervently written before. I know you are alive, my dearest, as I can still feel you breathing. You are worlds away and yet I can still feel you, this alone tells me you are alive and well. 
Although I must say I can still feel your distress, my beloved. You recall those late nights when I would ask you what was wrong, even though you showed no signs of distress whatsoever? You would look at me with such sadness and confess your deepest feelings, usually involving the grim truth of our forbidden love and how we could never be together. Tears would sometimes stream our faces as you opened your arms to me when words escaped you. I would fall into them and hold onto you for dear life. We would kiss each others tears away and at least try to comfort the other with words of, "let's just enjoy these moments, here and now" and while we did, the creeping truth lurking in the background would sprout up and scream that this will not last forever. Those moments that we did cherish I still hold on to and I am thankful that we lived them with each other to the fullest. 
We fought, so valiantly, for each other until the bitter end. Moments of weakness, or strength, I have a hard time deciphering between the two because they seem to both have such strong tendencies in both realities, in both worlds, that I know not which is more true. Sometimes I think we ended up together in that other world, in that alternate reality, the one where we fought harder for one another, the one where our love really did beat the odds. 
Oh my dearest J, how I wish to look into the bluest eyes of the man who has my whole heart once more. Until then know that I, as I always have and always will, will be thinking of you. Someone, somewhere on this beautiful, hellish planet loves you unconditionally, wholeheartedly. The words that drip onto this paper really have no meaning when it comes to my love for you, and I fear there are no words in any language on Earth that can truly express it. One day I will just have to show you. 

Sincerely,
Hopeless