DIY History | Transcribe | World War I Diaries and Letters | Conger Reynolds correspondence, July 1918 | 1918-07-12 Conger Reynolds to Daphne Reynolds Page 9

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Conger Reynolds correspondence, July 1918

1918-07-12 Conger Reynolds to Daphne Reynolds Page 9

to express yourself to stand unchallenged. Maybe you don't realize the fact but you can write.  You forget to tell me where you are going to be three weeks ahead, or what finally happened to the songs you had got me interested in, but when you write love letters you do it with such supreme art that you make me wordless in my wonder at what an exquisite lover you are. You give me a nice little pinch in a jealous spot and follow with a pat and a kiss that reassures and gladdens. You back away into the dark and urge me to follow and find you. You take my hands and tell me very earnestly how seriously and powerfully you love me. You lay your head on my shoulder and welcome my love pats and kisses. You sooth and caress and thrill me.  All the wonderful moods of love, both playful and serious, are thus in the sentences you write, perhaps thinking that they do not half express what you think and feel.  But they do express much, certainly enough to give me greatest happiness. I get the thought and the feeling behind the words because I too love very deeply and my heart feels the beating of your own whether it be evident to the mind or not.
These last months have been wonderful to me in teaching me the glories of so great and serious a passion as I have had for you. It seems as if every idle moment has been filled with thoughts of you, and even some of the busy moments been interrupted by flashes of memory or idea concerning you that just would shove other things aside.  I have run the gamut of love's emotions concerning you from the poignant pain of

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to express yourself to stand unchallenged. Maybe you don't realize the fact but you can write. You forget to tell me where you are going to be three weeks ahead, or what finally happened to the songs you had got me interested in, but when you write love letters you do it with such supreme art that you make me wordless in my wonder at what an exquisite lover you are. You give me a nice little pinch in a jealous spot and follow with a pat and a kiss that reassures and gladdens. You back away into the dark and urge me to follow and find you. You take my hands and tell me very earnestly how seriously and powerfully you love me. You lay your head on my shoulder and welcome my love pats and kisses. You sooth and caress and thrill me. All the wonderful moods of love, both playful and serious, are thus in the sentences you write, perhaps thinking that they do not half express what you think and feel. But they do express much, certainly enough to give me greatest happiness. I get the thought and the feeling behind the words because I too love very deeply and my heart feels the beating of your own whether it be evident to the mind or not. These last months have been wonderful to me in teaching me the glories of so great and serious a passion as I have had for you. It seems as if every idle moment has been filled with thoughts of you, and even some of the busy moments been interrupted by flashes of memory or idea concerning you that just would shove other things aside. I have run the gamut of love's emotions concerning you from the poignant pain of