My Dearest Mr. Daquano,
The persistent malaise hanging over Forward Operating Base Frat House has been replaced with fleeting optimism. Rumors are circulating among the ranks that General News has declared an end to hostilities against the wretched contagion which has separated us lo these many days.
As of this writing, it is but a rumor, but soon, my bunion, we may do more than cast loving glances at distances greater than 6 feet, or trade humorous anecdotes in fewer than 120 characters. Shortly, this epistolary relationship may be replaced by actual auditory communication and hairy man-hugs.
A timeline to resuming niceties has yet to be affixed to the Frat House wall, but the grapevine reports it may be as soon as Monday next. If so, I would hope that you can refrain from frolicking with the enlisted men who return before me. I fear the injuries I have incurred battling distancing regulations and masked encounters for the sake of journalism will detain me a smidgen longer.
The doctors say they will be able to save my leg, but not without considerable recovery time. And I vow not to appear at your threshold until I can carry you across it like the smitten soldier I am.
Warmest personal regards,
Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division