All that

This is no time for heartfelt uncertainties. All that is over now. I don’t want you on your guard; I think I never did, but, once your deep distrust transformed my humble say of love into an insincere attempt at friendship, it didn’t seem to matter much. What is ever sure in matters of the heart? Now it matters; I think it always did. But this is no time for sentimental memories. This is no time for anxious prophecies. The heart bleeds. Does it grow hard? The heart grows hard. Does it bleed? In the ambiguity of unmutual affairs our visible actions suffer the inconvenience of our emotions. Doubts surface. Should we have taken off our torn investments? They’d lost our interest, but all that is over now.

29 May 1975