This is the seventieth of 87 letters exchanged during World War II between Nicholas Salvatore and Elizabeth Galloway. For more see Nicholas and Elizabeth.
March 30, 1945
In a strange place
I can’t explain it but the more proactive my mother gets in her attempts to sell this land the less hope I have. Senseless, I know. You’re right, so far everything I wanted to happen with my mom has happened, yet I’m not happy. It’s silly and selfish but now that they’re friends again it’s as if I no longer have a purpose. I tried to help her with finding offers but seem to just get in the way. It’s turned into a full-fledged obsession with her. She’s excited and happy and I should be happy for her and happy I may get what I want after all, but I’m not. I’m not and I don’t know why.
Most of the time I don’t even feel like I’m watching myself live. I feel like I’m watching as I aimlessly drift downstream, with nothing to grab onto. Sometimes I enjoy the view but that’s mostly when it’s distorted by some sort of false hope. Seriously Nick, what’s wrong with me?
Bonne nuit, mon capitan,
Next letter – April 7, 1945