#6

January 11, 1951

Dear Virginia,

The pressure of daily endeavor leads away my thoughts from you. Work is a great anesthetic to my ever longings for you. But I couldn't work the whole twenty-four hours. So, somehow, nighttime finds my thoughts meandering towards you. I have no refuge but write to you of them, in a brief way, so much afraid that it might bore you so. With your silence, I have no way of knowing if it is so.

As a drowning man would cling to a piece of debris, I persist on writing - optimistically hoping - that, eventually, I will reach the shore of your understanding. I have no illusion of reaching that shore easily. But so long as I can still breathe - gasping maybe - so shall I try to. I only hope the shore is not a mirage.

Please, Gini, talk to me!


I love you so.
Gomer