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Words on paper to many people would seem a meaningless thing, something that could easily be replaced. 

She hadn't given up.

She had written back, but in every letter I had only now received the same line haunted me..

"Please Tom, write to me" 

Sybil my dearest, had be made to think as though I had forgotten her when really I was just as eager and anxious as she was to when we would next meet. 

War had torn apart so many people, including us. 

What would be the point in trying to send a letter back to my love, when I know she would never receive my words.

During this time I had to think , what did I have to give her?

Love?

But during these times is that really "All you need".

She needs stability, and a man who can be there by her side to give her the love she deserves. This woman has stolen my heart, soul and mind. Never to be given back or taken.

Maybe a note, with the words that the intruder and persecutor of our love would be happy to hear.

Sybil P.O.V

I sit here staring out a window and meaningless things wondering how life would have turned out if I were different. If Tom were different?

No, because then he wouldn't be Tom. He wouldn't have the stories and the arguments of politics and war that he continuously babbles on about but I listen to him because I see the glow in his eyes when he talks about something he feels so strongly about--

"Miss Sybil, sorry to excuse you but this note came for you earlier"

"Oh that's quite alright, thank you."

A note?

Maybe from Papa, asking about the trip he was making into London tomorrow-

"112DB0 Military Office

SENDER - BRANSON 

CN - 12SC16"

I couldn't look at it for more than a second and not tear it to shreds with tears streaming down my face..

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