I lay in bed with Lincoln, in his tidy room, in his large house. I’d never stayed the night at his house before, but my parents allowed it because he’d be leaving for god knows how long. I was drawing circles on his chest, my hands slightly shaking.

He was leaving for war tomorrow. I didn’t want him to go, but he was. We were both in University—him about to go into his senior year, me in my junior year. We were both very smart, both Valedictorian.

It was 1944, nearing Thanksgiving. I was only nineteen, very young for my University level. I’d moved up two grades just because of it. I was so scared for him to leave. He had finally decided to enlist, even though his family had convinced him not to for the past couple of years. He was determined to fight for his country now.

We had been dating since high school—now going on our fourth year anniversary last month. I didn’t think I could even live without him.

(Also I'm giving SO MUCH credit to @fuchiaram794. TYSM)