This Lifetime. | Edward Heffron

His Letter.

Eleanor Robinson,

Merry Christmas!

I don't know if you'll ever receive this, but its Christmas night, I'm in a hole in the ground, and I'm thinking of you. I hope you're well.

I remember the day you stepped onto our front yard, a basket in your hands. It was the summer of 1940, and we had just moved in from South Philadelphia. I knew then, seeing you in your dress, that our lives would be intertwined. I don't know why I knew, I guess I always knew.

I didn't fall in love with you right away. You were so nervous to talk to me, I thought I'd mess around and ask you to buy more, thinking you'd figure it out. But you didn't. Instead, you came again with more eggs, never once asking where I put them. The second time I asked you for more, it was just so I'd see you again.

Remember the night I told you I loved you? That wasn't planned at all. I was gonna get you flowers, show up on your doorstep, and ask you out properly. Except I realized that nothing good we've ever done was planned. That night, as I was laying in bed, I promised myself that I'd marry you, Eleanor Robinson.

I keep racking my brain trying to figure out why you haven't written. The best case scenario is that you got caught up at work. How is everything there? I hope its good. The worst case scenario is that you've given up. You'd tell me if you did right? I hope you would.

Regardless, if this reaches you, I want you to know that I love you. Forever, until the end of time itself, I'll love you Eleanor Robinson. Even if you don't want me too.

With a basket of eggs and train tickets to New York,

Forever your Babe