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128
Monday, May 7, 1928

estates, the life of "sitting down & getting up," the life of plans, illusions, memories, and the life after Death — a combination — a whole.   I agree with the first part of the statement.  There are two lives, but the thing that bothers me is if the first is an excuse, or rather a reason for the second, or real one...  Is there an after life?  I think not, probably because I am so far away from it — that I find no need to imagine one.

I wonder what Bob is doing — if he is thinking about me — how soon he will forget -.  It seems incredible that he should like me;  I am immature, not terribly pretty;  not brilliantly clever; — perhaps its' because we feel the same way about things;  perhaps because we were in the same mood at the same time;  perhaps because it was comfortable and happy.  But are these things that will last —?  Oh Bob dear, think of Aline once in a while.  You have left her very lonely, not only because she has lost you and that incident, but because you have woken her to seeing the pettiness of her friends and her life — and when one can see nothing in one's friends or existence one is lonely.  But you have awoken her to herself, Bob, to the need of balance and beauty.  And for that she is thankful to you — more


129
Tuesday, May 8, 1928

thankful than you will ever know.  I shall always think about you, Bob, in the "The Wayfarers".

a   "Is it the hour?  We leave this resting place
b   Made fair by one another for a while.
a   Now for a god-speed, one last made embrace,
b   The long road then, unlit by your real smile.
c   Ah the long road — and you so far away!
b   Oh, I'll remember but ..... each [[strikethrough]] long [[/strikethrough][ crawling mile
a   Will dull a bit the scarlet of your lips, each day
c   Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.
Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,                      The deserts edge, last of the lands we know, 
Some quaint eventual limit of our light 
In which I'll find you waiting, and we'll go [[strikethrough]] together [[/strikethrough]] 
Together, hand in hand again, out there 
Into the waste we know not, into the night?"

Do you suppose there is a "far border town" — somewhere — So it in that life of fantasy, or the getting up and setting down life — or is in the other life — six feet underground.  Perhaps that is it — Because I don't love you with my flesh and bones and blood — it is with something intangible, indescribal and in such a way that I love you.  Some people call that thing a "soul" — and they say that the soul lives on to see the pattern of life later.  Is it that which shall love you after we've forgotten?

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