I do not dare to write Monelia since I'm sure you're sick and tired of me of my pumps of my works. Here nothing goes right I don’t want to do anything in particular and not even work not to see Joan not to have a new girl. I think I understand that by your movement you have undone a complicated delicate construction that corresponded to complex motivations of my desire to live. Everything existed only by the virtue of your presence whether it is negative or positive if you remove the main piece the stuff does not work anymore. I do not, believe me, blame you, as it is understandable that you want to exist and not to subsist in arbitrary and abstract sections of time and places that are not really yours and that you want to build your own world, you would have agreed to be part of mine if you had been the only motivation not only the main piece but also the explanation of the world for me sufficient demonstration is necessary of our love. I understand you but suddenly dizzily and by the virtue of my inadequacies of my powerlessness I have the revelation of both the complexity of my wills and desires and especially the great strength of both creation and analysis that is at the basis of almost every movement of my soul. If I suffer my impulses I am never completely prisoner and by the fact being the spectator of my own show I arrive at the most definitive requirements when the staging and the play of the actor I do not forgive me any fault no weakness and ask to be surprised every night otherwise I whistle you had the place of both the producer and the theater director. I was the actor and the director. I understand that you want to change for a new theater but I exchange your eyes against mine with love.