Regina Saxony
on the topic of sonnets
Dearest Ptichka,
I apologize ahead of the time. I know my writing is not good and I am not a Shakespeare or a Voltaire you like to read. Our love isn’t a sonnet no way my dear, and I appreciate that more than you will ever know. Or maybe you do know.
There is not much to do on the ships. Maybe there is and I am not high enough to know of these classified details. Most of the time I am on the boat in the dark, watching the Baltic Sea for ships. Usually, I just look at the stars, maybe you look at the stars too. Maybe we both watch the same stars at the same time and the open sea becomes less lonely. Although I watch for ships, Wars don’t seem to be fought over the waters now. Submarines are everywhere and we’re told that if we ever see one we need to yell like hell.
We eat a lot of soup. A lot of Shchi. A lot of Okroshka. I wish I could send you some. From what I hear from the men, Petrograd is not a great place. Stay safe and full my ptichka.
As there is not a lot to do, many of us, when we are not sleeping or eating or resting or writing to our dear family at home, play cards or talk of a new era in therodina. Sometimes they will whistle in a high pitch and I will be reminded of your chirpy demeanor. They say this winter has been hard. They say that women fill the streets and the snow is red. I agree with them. Tsar Nicholas and the Tsarina have sapped the people they govern more so than Germany ever could. Most of these talks I believe to be bluffing of young men, but I agree steadfastly and plan to do something once the war is complete and the world is either decimated to nothing or things are as normal as can be.
On lighter notes, your silk scarf has kept me company many of restless sleeps. I mended it (albeit, terribly) to my rough pillowcase. Your scent has left on the account of my filth and the sweaty filth around me, but if I press my nose into the softness hard enough, I can still whiff a few pleasant notes. I am also working on my writing due to your persistence when I watch the stars and the black waters and the horizon. I’ve got a long ways ‘till I see you dear. I will come back to you. Regina Saxony. I will come back to you.
With Love,
Ilya
I apologize ahead of the time. I know my writing is not good and I am not a Shakespeare or a Voltaire you like to read. Our love isn’t a sonnet no way my dear, and I appreciate that more than you will ever know. Or maybe you do know.
There is not much to do on the ships. Maybe there is and I am not high enough to know of these classified details. Most of the time I am on the boat in the dark, watching the Baltic Sea for ships. Usually, I just look at the stars, maybe you look at the stars too. Maybe we both watch the same stars at the same time and the open sea becomes less lonely. Although I watch for ships, Wars don’t seem to be fought over the waters now. Submarines are everywhere and we’re told that if we ever see one we need to yell like hell.
We eat a lot of soup. A lot of Shchi. A lot of Okroshka. I wish I could send you some. From what I hear from the men, Petrograd is not a great place. Stay safe and full my ptichka.
As there is not a lot to do, many of us, when we are not sleeping or eating or resting or writing to our dear family at home, play cards or talk of a new era in therodina. Sometimes they will whistle in a high pitch and I will be reminded of your chirpy demeanor. They say this winter has been hard. They say that women fill the streets and the snow is red. I agree with them. Tsar Nicholas and the Tsarina have sapped the people they govern more so than Germany ever could. Most of these talks I believe to be bluffing of young men, but I agree steadfastly and plan to do something once the war is complete and the world is either decimated to nothing or things are as normal as can be.
On lighter notes, your silk scarf has kept me company many of restless sleeps. I mended it (albeit, terribly) to my rough pillowcase. Your scent has left on the account of my filth and the sweaty filth around me, but if I press my nose into the softness hard enough, I can still whiff a few pleasant notes. I am also working on my writing due to your persistence when I watch the stars and the black waters and the horizon. I’ve got a long ways ‘till I see you dear. I will come back to you. Regina Saxony. I will come back to you.
With Love,
Ilya