BRACERS Record Detail for 19156
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"Friday night. My Heart's Love—I must write again because I wrote in a great hurry before, thinking you would be just starting—"
"I was only making excuses for myself being so inadequate."
"And I don't mean to let fear get hold of me, but as I care more and more for you I find fear coming nearer—the fear of losing you, and the sense of inadequacy...."
BR TO CONSTANCE MALLESON, [27 APR. 1917]
BRACERS 19156. ALS. McMaster
Edited by S. Turcon. Reviewed by K. Blackwell
My Heart’s Love
I must write again because I wrote in great hurry before, thinking you would be just starting — I am very very much ashamed of having written you a “cruel” letter3 — I did really think you were getting tired of me and trying to break it gently — I worried and worried and at last felt I couldn’t bear the suspense any longer — I was tortured — it was foolish, but I can’t help expecting the worst when I care much about anything. —I really and truly don’t mind not seeing you for ages now that I know it is not what I thought — I did not realize that there was anything in my letter you could take as blame — I was only making excuses for myself for being so inadequate —
O my dear one, if you knew the utter hell that I sink into when anything goes wrong, you would not judge me hardly. Despair gnaws at the depths of my soul — I want oblivion — I want escape — But what I most want is rest — I am so very tired.
Colette, my dear dear Love, I cling to you — I love you and have a great need for you — and that makes me selfish — I want to build my hopes round the thought of you, but I am half afraid to — if I lost you, I feel I couldn’t find the courage to go on — but I am ashamed of feeling that. And I don’t mean to let fear get hold of me, but as I care more and more for you I find fear coming nearer — the fear of losing you, and the sense of inadequacy — and a great fear of becoming an oppression in your life instead of a help. And it makes me unhappy to find how little happiness I bring you.
Dearest, do try to tell me more about your despair — it hurts not to be able to get near it — and it would be altogether better to let it out more. You live such a silent life right inside you, and it is painful when one loves you.
My sweetest Dear, you are twined all about my heart — there is no life for me now without you — I love you with a deep desperate love — Goodnight, my Soul.
B.
