Stonington

Journal Entry - August 9, 1918

Last night, a bittersweet dream visited, weaving a tapestry of my greatest love and most devastating loss. In the dream, Henry, my beloved, returned to me from the battlefield, his uniform tattered yet his eyes radiant with the same affection that had warmed my soul since our stolen glances first kindled our secret passion. We stood together inside - which was somehow an outside - under a crescent moon and surrounded by a bounty of blooms, their soft fragrance seemingly whispering our secret to the wind. Then we exchanged vows that bound our spirits in eternal matrimony! Imagine! The soft caress of his hand in mine felt so achingly real, yet I awoke to a world where Henry's laughter and warmth have been extinguished by the horror-filled carnage of war. As this evening's dusk casts its melancholic glow upon my tear-streaked face, I desperately hold tight to the remaining fragments of that bittersweet vision.