My Dearest Love,

The Love Letter
A way of pouring your heart out over the one you love with the ability for each meaningful word to sink into their soul. The sweet luxury of reading the words your lover wrote to you over and over and over til you have them memorized and engraved in your swollen heart. They are there written with no distractions, no interruptions. Knowingly thought out onto paper. Able to fold up into a tiny square and tuck away for lonely moments alone when your heart is crying out and the most painful part of love is upon you!

May 20, 1943

Dearest Bunny,

Do you know what this is--a wedding anniversary letter. I think it should arrive about on the right date. Do you remember that hot June day thirty-three years ago?--the church jammed--Father with a lovely waistcoat with small blue spots--the Rough Riders--the ushers in cutaways--the crowds in the street--your long white veil and tight little bodice--the reception at Aunt Harriet's--Uncle Ed--your mother with one of her extraordinary hats that stood straight up.

And do you remember what the world was then--little and cozy--a different order of things, wars considered on the basis of a Dick [Richard Harding] Davis novel, a sort of "As it was in the beginning" atmosphere over life. We've come a long way down a strange road since then.

Nothing has happened as we imagined it would except our children. We never thought we'd roam the world. We never thought our occupations and interests would cover such a range. We never thought that our thirty-third anniversary would find us deep in our second war and me again at the front. Well, darling, we've lived up to the most important part of the ceremony, "In sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, till death do you part."

Much, much love.

~written by Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.
December 25, 1944

I love you darling—whatever happens—be happy—that's my only request—get everything we would have liked—fill your life—(er—only keep my little niche open—so if I ever get home—I'll know there's one place waiting for me—my corner of the world—Let it be a small alcove in your heart—put a comfortable chair there and always keep a warm fire glowing—Because if I come home in any recognizable form I'll head directly for that chair—That's where I belong—that's my home—with you--)

July 14, 1861

Camp Clark, Washington

My very dear Sarah,
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give
them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I
know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If
I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Sullivan

you will always interest me, and therefore i will always love you. i will watch you button your shirt slowly and carefully, and that will be enough. i will see you smile when i tell a joke or say something stupid and that will be enough. i will hear you groan over some sort of unfortunate circumstance and hearing the sound of you while being invited to share in your passing annoyance, and that will be more than enough. you are everything interesting and exciting in the world. you make experiencing anything worthwhile and enjoyable. as long as you’re around, everything is right, and nothing bothers me.

i forget everything when you come into my mind.

{all photos from weheartit and some inspiring blogs}

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With Love,
Emma