i‘m not a poet.

Dearest Cecilia,  The story can resume. The one I had been planning on the evening walk. I can become again the man who once crossed the Surrey park at dusk in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. I will return, find you, love you, marry you. And live without shame. 

If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love… I love… I love you. And I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

May you be in heaven a full half-hour before the devil knows you’re dead.

What other kind of engaged is there?

All the bright, precious things fade so fast, and they don’t come back.

You’re a great deal too good for me. And I’m so grateful to you, and I’m so proud of you. And I just ,I don’t see why I can’t love you as you want me to. I don’t know why.