👽

I was shattered. I wondered how people managed to go on living when there was nothing to be hoped for from within.

I was made for another planet altogether I mistook the way.

Love is like a fever which comes and goes quite independently of the will.

And I can’t help remembering that at the time, too, my dreams were sad and dreary, and though I did not feel better then I somehow can’t help feeling that it was better, that life was more peaceful, that at least I was not then obsessed by the black thoughts that haunt me now, that I did not suffer from these gloomy and miserable qualms of conscience which now give me no rest either by day or by night.

I barely know how to talk anymore. I’m in mourning; I weep; I’m afraid.

One of the hardest things you will ever have to do my dear is grieve the loss of a person who is still alive.