There are no new things and people. There is nothing. I haven’t got
on very well without you and being happy seems to belong to a
far-back time when you wore a green straw hat with a wreath of pink
clover.
You have explained everything at last. Thank you, darling. Perhaps
if we had both explained things more to each other, there wouldn’t
have been such blanks and failures.
I am at home, alone, wondering, like you, what to do next. I am
quite free. I want to be with you again. Let us meet and think of
something to do together. I shall go to Cambridge for a day at the
beginning of next term. Meet me there. I’d hate to find you again
for the first time in a different setting. I promise not to remind
you of the past or of things you want to forget. I too only want to
see a future now.
I am living in an utter solitude, which is thrilling but insidious.
This time of year always reminds me of you. I wish you were here to
bathe at mid-day, when the haze is warm and golden, to share my
fruity meals, and drift on the cold white-misted moony river after
dark.
Tell me a date and I will come.
To think of you without your hair! Mine is exactly as it used to
be.