When The Sun Sets

Letters Harry Never Sent to Annaliese (July 1918)

Amiens, France

July 1918

Dear Annaliese,

That was quite the letter you sent. I read it last night. Absolutely filthy. Thank you for letting my imagination run wild for some time. I'd like to do all those things to you and more.

Hear my words: you own every part of me, Annaliese Favreau. My body, my soul, my entire existence fully depends on you now.

I cannot put into words how badly I yearn for you. I can't put into words what I feel for you, and what I've felt for you since the moment I met you in front of that fire when you fell asleep on top of me. Words cannot describe how I do not feel worthy of the affection you throw across the ocean with each letter.

I want my hands all over you too. I dream of them holding you, pleasuring you, but what if they leave blood streaks behind? I'd end right there if I ever marred your perfect skin.

You were made for me, Annaliese. Yet, sometimes, I suspect I was not made for you. I can feel the sting of your slap on my face for saying that, but isn't it true? How can I love you from here? How can you accept the monster that I have become before my very eyes?

I have accepted that I am not sending this letter. Let me use you as my diary, will you? I will draft you a new letter in which I will beg for more erotic letters. I will desperately play the part you want, the husband who wants nothing more than to ravage his wife. I will play along and I will not cause you anymore pain.

In all honesty, the thought of you waiting for me causes me to panic until I must shove my head between my knees and reteach myself how to breathe. Annaliese, your letter made me feel empty, and I wanted to sink to my knees and put my face into the dirt and cry. I felt anger at your words. Isn't that repulsive of me? I felt anger because I am not worthy of your love or body. When you spent three paragraphs describing how you'd like to love me, did you expect me to melt?

I am an unworthy man. I felt anger and jealousy at the man you'll love once you've discarded me.

Land the killing blow, Annaliese. Don't keep me waiting. I will not be able to tolerate it though, even if I've seen far more horrific sights in this week alone. Yet your happiness will be what satiates me. I will lose my mind, but I've lost my mind a thousand times over you already.

Perhaps my goal should be to live long enough to see you horrified at the person I've become.

Your husband,

Harry