May 22, 1918.

Dear Marie,

I just finished a little note for you, so it would be mailed right away,
so will write my letter now. Did you get all of my letters last week? I
think I wrote two and another, typewritten, one about telegraphy. You
read my “Morse” letter OK. I just got your letter of the 18^(th) and
19^(th) this noon. Please keep a little note of the dates on you letters
and then when you get my letters notice the dates on them and tell me so
that I can be sure no letters are lost.

I located Morse’s company Monday night but he wasn’t there so I left a
note on his bunk. Last night he came down to the Cantonments but it was
after 9:30 P:M. so we had very little time to get acquainted.

Now please do not think I am even the least bit “peeved” because you
wrote but once last week. I realize that you have not the time to write
as often as I like to hear from you.

Marie, I know you must love me very much as there is not the slightest
touch of insincerity in your letters. And I know you too well to
misunderstand you, I think. And, Marie I know you do not doubt me in the
least, either. It’s simply impossible for me to make you feel how very
much I care, and I guess it would be better that you do not know,
anyway. You must remember that I have told you that we can never “belong
to eachother,” and that we can never be more than good friends. Now
Marie you simply must believe this. I would not tell you this if I were
not sure of it, for it hurts me and I believe it hurts you, too, in a
way. You will remember that I told you that if I were not very sure you
would be glad to forget me in a few years, that I would not write
another letter. I still say the same. For awhile last year I had hopes
of your being “my little girl” some day but I no longer can hope that
even if I were free to come back home now. There is no “little message”
between the lines of my letters to you – except that I love you to the
utmost. However, it is all useless and so I shall never mention my love
for you again.

It may be better to “love some one you can’t have, than to have someone
you can’t love,” but that isn’t right either way.

Yes, I remember the little incidents you spoke of. The violets down
below the pasture and the buried flowers at the “Big Hills.” And I
remember the slippers, too. I have the picture of you on the porch rail
with the kitten and you look so big and so close, just as if I could
just open my arms and hold you close. Marie, some day you will realize
how unworthy I am, than you will not care.

Will not you try to be my friend, but at the same time forget your love
for me?

I do not want to forget my love for you because it helps me so much in
so many ways.

And you also help Mother and Dad so much, and you don’t suspect how much
they really love you. In her last letter Mother writes, “Marie has just
gone. She is a ray of sunshine just now flashing in and out, with her
cheery smile and “Hello, how’s everybody?’”

It is such a perfect picture of you as I would want you to be always.

I would like to write about Physical Culture but it is “lights out” time
now.

Forget all about telegraphy – Please. Well I must leave you for this
time.

Sincerely,

Forrest.