October 17, 1946
D’Arline,
I adore you, sweetheart.
I know how much you like to hear that — but I don’t
only write it because you like it — I write it because it makes me warm all
over inside to write it to you.
It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to
you — almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I
am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.
But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do
what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want
to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.
I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means
to love you after you are dead — but I still want to comfort and take care of
you — and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to
discuss with you — I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until
just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make
clothes together — or learn Chinese — or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do
something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and
general instigator of all our wild adventures.
When you were sick you worried because you could not
give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have
worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in
so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true — you can give me
nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else — but
I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else
alive.
I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that
you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you
are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart)
after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I — I don’t understand
it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain
alone — but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to
me. You are real.
My darling wife, I do adore you.
I love my wife. My wife is dead.
Rich.
PS Please excuse my not mailing this — but I don’t know your new address.
