March 3rd, 1940.

{Writing}

Dear, Harry:

My mum misses you. She talks about you anytime I see her. She says she prays every night before bed that you'll be alright. That you'll survive and make it back to us alive. I miss you too. So much. Days pass where I just miss you so much and miss everything about you. Keep fighting, my love. I love you, so much.

Love, Louis.
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