January 12, 1929 -- Letter From Jonathan Cromwell

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Mailed from enroute to the east coast of USA to Buffalo, NY

January 12, 1929

My Dearest Kaitlen(*),

The world is a colorless and dim place without you. It seems to me as though I merely glide through the mundane affectations of my daily life. Where I once saw something as commonplace and ordinary, I now see a vibrance and fullness that somehow – word undecipherable -- without your companionship. Like a man half-blind who suddenly realizes without ever knowing that he was, and knows where the light and the end of his blindness resides.

I remember every word and deed and gesture. All of the good, quiet hours spent with you in that small house in Chicago, and I know that I want them again. And again, and again. Without the strain and obligation and horror. I remember your words; see the gentle beauty of your smile. Your grace and strength, and you are almost here with me in the coldness of this railway car. I can almost smell the fragrance of rose upon the air; hear the quiet timbre of your voice speaking to me.

And then the train jolts, or the whistle sounds and I am brought back to myself, without you.

The room is dark, it smells of people I do not know, my own clothing and possessions, and there is a stack of papers demanding my attention on the desk. But, ah, my dear, most of all, there is nothing of you, here, except the gifts I have from you. And the wondrous vision in my memory. There is no Kaitlen in the room, real, alive, filling the room with beauty. Just myself.

I return from the world of color to the world of the blind.

You asked me in Chicago, not to merely love you, but to be in love with you. I have fallen in love with you Kaitlen, and it is stronger than any love I have felt in my long and troubled life. And for all of that life I had thought that I could never feel this strongly, or touch that place inside myself I had touched only fleetingly so long ago. I am not lost, my dear, but I am at a loss as to how to express myself. A paradox, is it not? And here I cannot express so powerful an emotion, that I am overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed and captivated. As I had not thought possible. A bit frightening to me it is, this loss of control. You can see, I am sure, the elements of the rigid emotional controls I have placed about myself for so long that I no longer see. And at times forget what it is like to be without them. I have built for myself my blindness, my walls to keep out the light, the dark, the everything. It is very hard to come down from behind them.

And there is always that I am afraid. My experiences have taught me that all things change. My experiences have shown me that often those changes bring great pain and hardship. And I know where the fear comes from. It is the loss of hope. It is something that, when we are young we know that there will always be change, something different, something better. I had lost all hope until, in that room in Chicago, the small house, the train from Buffalo, and in Buffalo, I came to know you.

So tenuous are the interactions of a man and a woman. So needful of communication and understanding. I shudder to think that there were any number of moments at which all of this may have gone awry. I know that I first started feeling as I do when we walked in the park after we first met. Another memory, so vivid and full of detail.

You cannot know. I cannot find the words to express the feeling that grows daily; so I sit and try feebly to place them upon this white, clean paper for you to read. Perhaps understand, and so know that I was not blind in Chicago. Foolish, perhaps, unsure, definitely, but only of myself and the situation there.

I ask myself, why? Why does this glorious woman say these things, do these things? Offer me hope where I thought it lost. And the man inside myself who was once young and poetic tells me. I have for so long denied myself, myself. And she sees that place inside me that would blossom under a loving hand.

So, my dearest Kaitlen, I turn myself towards you and yearn for the simple warmth of your smile, and find again in myself cause for joyous abandon. To the word and deed so endearing and lasting. Oh, say, to me that you feel as do I. That is has not changed. That it will never change to loss. Say to me again what you said in the house. That I may tell you the same; for I know now that it is so, and that I long for all the joy, warmth and passion and love that it brings.

Oh, my dear, say to me that I have not been a fool. That it is not too late, that I may see thee again. I have yearned so long for you, that I can almost believe you are a dream, that you are only the memory that I see now before me and wish so much to speak and touch.

But the memory does not speak, nor does it reach out to touch, or brush my hair from my face. And I know that you are real and alive, and somewhere on this wide earth, and that maybe, just possibly, you may be thinking of me.

As I continuously dream of you.

With all my love,
J

(* - Kaitlen is Hannelore's middle name, and only used by those she considered especially close to her.)