Okay, this this one is a little weird, and I will admit I got a little overly involved in a post that has been going around social media, as seen below. This is the story of Jeanne, and how she finds Claude’s letter, over 150 years later.
It also draw inspiration from this week’s Friday Picture Prompt on The Writer’s Mess, with the picture of the Love Locks. It is questionable as where this tradition actually started, and I like the idea it was far earlier than people think.
I could live a thousand lifetimes, and never tire of the sight of your smiling face. It is the memory of that smile that sustains me through the long nights, where I am far from home, far from everything, and everyone that I love.
I long for the day that this war finally ends, and I might have a chance to stand before you, and tell you how I feel. That I might ask for your hand in marriage, so that we never again would be parted, and I could see these fair countries, with you at my side.
I have not the money for fine jewels, or fancy dresses, but I have left evidence of my love in every city I have passed in these long years of fighting, in the form of a lock, with our mark’s inscribed upon them, at every bridge, and I hope that some day I can show you each and every one of them.
I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as I read the letter, for what felt like the thousandth time, but it still hit me just as hard as it did the first time.
I left before Claude returned, too many years in one place had put us at risk, and I always thought I would see him again. If I had known that this was how he felt, I would have risked it though, staying there, for him.
I travelled half of Europe after the first time I saw that letter, visiting locks that were little more rust, mourning what may have been, wondering why, Claude, why did you never say anything, and hoping against all hope that one day, even it takes a hundred years more, that I will look up and find him standing there, waiting.