I have a distant admiration for those who have the will to close their own eyes, never again to see the light of day. They have a strength I do not possess, a will that I have, but a strength that I lack. For this hour, everything is dark, the sun is black to me and life is happiless. I do not see how to go by each day, how to carry on, how to live. Like Romeo, seeing his beloved on the bed, dead, though she lives, yet he thinks her dead, drank that poison whole, till life was found in him no more. I wish too for a woman in the market to sell me a bottle, full of poison, and in the loneliness of my existence, drink it till no more drops remain. Then in peace I will go into that realm that nothing exists, well at least, into that realm where this life no longer remains; and I shall be free from the constant pangs of my broken aching heart, and the deep despondency of being close friends with loneliness. O the depths of my longing this moment, to be free from this vision of life is bottomless. But I have not the will to do that which I so desire. Like my sins, I cannot overcome, like them, I cannot become, and like her, can never win her heart. It is all stacked against me. The fire burns my work, the snake thinks me not worthy to poison, and death thinks me worthless to visit. I must visit her, and although I know where she lives and many times I have put my hand on the handle to open her door, yet the strength is not in me. I always hold the handle but never turn it. O the sadness I feel too for them that close their own eyes is deep, a tragedy! And mine too shall be a tragedy. O dear Sunny, my nightmare is my solitude, and I fear that I may no longer be able to bear it.
From your dear Sammy. Write soon Sunny.
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