I read her, it's as if I've read my thoughts. I'm sure her influence is obvious. Through her confessions she'd found herself. Indifferent to Hugo, saying of a fraternal love and passionate for Henri the raw and primitive man. Obsessed with June of mysteries. Though freedom as an individual. She's all beauty woman to me.And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
In search of being loved.
She said, "I feared to understand, I feared to deceive myself, that it should all turn out to be ordinary."
"Where is the somber me that matches his despairs! In the diary. Secret."
"I think Henri is right about elaborating. But I think he does not understand that it is because I have a natural flow in the diary: what I produce outside is distillation, the myth, the poem. The elaboration is here. It is the gem made out of this natural outpouring. Shouldn't people prefer gems?"
And so I write natural thoughts too. Intimate, my imagined scenes are my heart, my voice and the only gems to be found within an ordinary as me. Yes, I'd allowed her to give up my affections and I'd none truly to pretend.
Janis next time.