I have gifted you this pair of slightly worn socks. I know your father needed a new pair while he works in the gulags. I do hope he hasn’t been tortured again. I have heard it said in passing that the officers there can do terrible things with nary but a wet towel. I have also heard that they maim the genitals of some. Quite atrocious indeed. I am certain your father can endure anything the heartless swine may do to him.
My Honey Bunches of Oats, I realize that our forbidden love becomes ever more difficult to contain, but I must have you again. The Germans have promised me that I will soon leave this dreaded camp. The gunshots and uncomfortably desirable smell of burning flesh continue to leave me worried even so. I must go before they discover that I put pen to paper.
I love you,