Dear Joanna,
I don’t know how to begin to tell you all of the ways that you have changed me, so I might as well try to write it all down. I was twenty-two the day you changed my life. I tried to ignore it, but I opened your first letter after three days of it calling to me.
Out in the desert, the days were unrelenting. Corrosive. But I am a Marine. I did my job and I did it well. Whenever I felt like there could be (and probably should be) something more than that, I felt like an imposter. I punished myself for those feelings by working harder, being even more focused.
You don’t even know it, but you helped me see that there was still beauty and good in the world—especially in moments it was hard to remember that. You helped me laugh. You told me stories from home and kept me connected when it felt too easy to drift away.
I know that I should have written you back. I wanted to. Every time I got a letter, I wanted to write to you. But how do you put into words feelings that you don’t even understand yourself? So I carried you with me. Your letters, the wings, they were all reminders to be a good man.
I spent two thousand eight hundred sixteen days in the Corps training to follow orders and make the right decisions at the right times. But what I failed to learn was how difficult it would be to find myself again—let someone else in—when I returned.
When I came back, I was angry and scared. I became obsessed with secretly finding the woman from the letters, but I had no idea that I would find you. You have changed everything. The day I saw you, everything inside of me said “you finally found her.” I knew in my bones that you were who I had been looking for.
But while I was searching for you, I never had to worry about losing you. I know I messed up—losing control when someone hurt you. I don’t regret what I did to them but I do regret everything that happened next. I should have trusted you enough to open myself up.
I’m trying to do better. I found a therapist who works with combat veterans to sort through the mess in my head. I’m learning that I don’t have it all figured out and maybe it’s not my job anymore to control every situation. I realize that what I have been doing to myself has gone way beyond what I can handle alone.
I won’t ask for you to wait for me, but I need you to know that I will carry you with me for the rest of my life. I won’t see another wildflower or hear another sad country song and not think of dancing with you in the kitchen.
Behind this letter you’ll see a deed to the Big House and all of the property around it. Before you freak out, you need to know this—Chikalu is your home. Please don’t go. This town needs you.
Joanna, my heart beats to the rhythm of yours and the best thing to ever happen to me was finding you.
All my love,
Lincoln
