Seriously I write in my black book as if appearances did not conceal a seriousness within, and you, smiling, seem to wonder what I’m writing as if appearances did not conceal a wonder within. In fact, I think, I write to you as if you weren’t only a pretty face but one to understand and one to care, and so I find myself in words as if they weren’t only words but words of art and words of love.
1 December 1979, 2 January 1980