Dear Little Rose,
Today, I forced myself to take a few minutes to write to you. You wrote that you don't believe me that I don't have time. This time you are sorely mistaken. It may be that you do not know what to do with your time, but things are different with me. First, the recent events have strained my nerves to the extent that not only am I unable to sit down and write a letter, but I can't even collect my thoughts. I wish that the time that separates us from the future would pass without straining my mind. I know that it would be much healthier for me. It is true that last year I had fantasies about it [liberation], and I even composed a few verses in "Dreams during a Lager Night,"1 but today I only want to calmly wait for it. I only hope that God surrounds us now in this epilogue of our suffering. Second, I've recently held a difficult and responsible position (as I wrote you) as a coal stoker of a boiler, which doesn't allow me to leave even for a minute. Now I have a few minutes before I have to leave, so I am writing this quickly. I wanted to write you a longer letter, but I've had bad luck. I have to stir the embers right now. It's a terribly taxing job, and it has taken me too long to finish. I ask that that you not look at everything through dark glasses. Be happy and have faith in the future. God will see to it that happiness will greet us. I send you my greetings.
Regards to Ewa