January 19, 1944

1030 19 January 1944


Beloved,

The most soothing pastime I have is to sit down and “talk” to you. I haven’t realized how comforting it is for so very long, but I’d certainly get desperate nowadays if I didn’t have you behind me, so to speak. Every now and then, al day long I get an urge to write to you, but when I start thinking about just what there is to say, I usually find that all I want to do is to tell you how much I love you and how much I want to be back with you an so on, and a certain amount of that is enough. If I wrote you as much as I think about it, you would surely start feeling sorry for me, and there is no call for that. There’s nothing really wrong with things here- it just gets tiresome and I get a little lonesome- or maybe lonely for you. I have several very good friends here, and they say there is nothing so rare as a good friend. But the best of friends is not half so rare as a wife like you. So- no matter how well things are going, if you aren’t around, I’ll get lonely. You can be sorry for me on that account if you want to. And you see, if I had more to tell you that was worth reading, I’d write more but not much happens that calls for repeating, so I usually put off writing until there is something to say. This however was put off from last night because first we had a “clinical conference” and then we got some blackout casualties + I, an OD, was occupied over that until nearly midnight, by which time I was very, very sleepy. I love you as I never did before.

B