"No, don't say it's reckless and foolish of me to write at all--I
know it. I can't care, not now. I tell you, Jimmy, what we have (is
it possible it's only ten days?) is something that could not happen
with Ann. Or anywhere in her world. I tell myself, I am not she,
she is not me, my love (you know it) is nothing like what could
happen for you with anyone but me. And there's my cure for
jealousy--if I could apply it, if I could make my head rule me a
little more, my crazy heart a little less. I want you, I'm empty
and dull in your absence, tonight this is the only way I can talk
to you. So let me talk, and think me foolish and reckless, and
destroy this scrawled thing if you think best. It's me, though.
Remember when you throw it away, it's me. And perhaps (because I
love you) I wouldn't like you to burn me.