LOVE LETTERS PROJECT - #3 (Video & Transcript)

This is one of the first love letters I narrated. It is written and narrated by me (Renee).

I was surprised to see there has been a recent surge of interest in handwritten letters. It is a lost art that I have begun reviving for my own family and friends.

These Love Letters are an ongoing project to both celebrate handwritten letters, as well as, allow me to showcase my writing, narration and interest in this medium.

This particular letter – as most of them are -was inspired by the many war time letters sent by the ladies missing their men during WWII.

Below is the video and transcript I’ve created for this Love Letter. It includes Sound FX.

TRANSCRIPT #3 – The Love Letters Project

My Beloved,

I received your last note this morning, carried up by the doorman along with the paper. And I smiled at the thought of how far it had traveled to reach me. From fields and tents and maps spread across tables, all the way to our quiet rooms here in Washington.

I read it slowly, the way I always do, as if reading it too quickly might hurry you farther away from me. The city is brisk with purpose these days.

Everywhere one turns there are uniforms, briefcases, and very determined faces.

From our windows I can see the flags stirring, and I think often of how many decisions are being made at this very hour, some by men in offices, some by men in mud, and some, I know, by you.

It comforts me more than I can properly say to imagine your steady hand guiding others through the chaos. I hear your names spoken now and then, usually in lowered voices, with respect, of course.

They speak of conferences and strategies, of meetings with men whose words shape nations.

But when I think of you, I see you walking alongside your soldiers, sharing their risks, your boots as worn as theirs, your presence a quiet promise that they are not alone.

That is the man I married, and that is the man I love still.

The children write often.

Our son is doing well, considering all things. His letters are brave and carefully worded, though I can hear you in the steadiness of his tone.

Our daughter works long hours now, her hands tired when she comes home, but her spirit remains bright. I am so proud of them both.

Still, when the day is done, it is you I wish to tell these things to, sitting across from me, as we always did, a fire in the hearth, a brandy in the hand.

Our home waits for you, much emptier without you here. I keep it much as you loved it. Your chair is untouched, and your books lay exactly where you set them down. I still pour myself that brandy in the evening.

Now it sits on the table beside my chair where I knit, pretending you are merely coming home late, and you’ll be through the door any moment.

It’s foolish, I know, but it helps me. I know your sense of duty pulls you forward. It’s that strength, your unshakable resolve, that’s part of the reason I love you so deeply.

Come back to me as soon as you can. Until then, carry with you the certainty that you are loved, fiercely, every day.

Wherever you are, whatever weight rests on your shoulders, my heart is beside you.