Dearest,
I feel certain that I am going mad again: I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems to be the best thing to do.
You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight it any longer, I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will, I know. You see, I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is that I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you.
Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.
I dont think two people could have been happier than we have been. Virginia Woolf
4 comments:
as despedidas são muito tristes. Vejo com um acto de muita coragem.
Nefertiti: eu também. Acredita que eu também. Nunca consegui desligar-me da velha história de o suicídio ser um acto de cobardia corajosa ou de coragem cobarde...beijinhos! E bom ano!
Nunca tinha lido essa carta.
Heartbreaking !
É verdade Horvallis, é verdade.
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