Port Richmond,
Philadelphia,
the 21st of April,
1943
Dear Allison,
It's only a matter of minutes before the
boat headed for Europe is leaving the port,
and this is probably the last letter
I'm writing you from American soil.
It's a very strange,
silent kind of mood amongst the guys as we wait for our call.
I've kept that little flower you gave me last summer,
when we were at my uncle's cabin in Portland.
It still smells like you,
and whenever I feel a rush of terror,
I keep smelling it while my eyes are closed,
and somehow it's almost like you're right by my side.
I'm kind of nervous,
but I keep reminding myself that whatever happens,
you'll always be with me.
You're always in my thoughts.
Truly,
your Sam.