So I scratch this out and write you a letter, my darling, while I drink my coffee in Corso Vittorio Emanuele.
A letter to tell you that you really must be a strega* – otherwise why should I keep falling more and more in love with you? Why should I start being jealous of the people who loved you in the past? No, not jealous, really – rather sad because I wasn’t there, because I wasn’t ten other people loving you in ten other ways, at ten different times of your life and mine…being made one with you in tenderness and passion and sensuality and understanding. Well, I am not ten other people and I am here and now, not then and there. But here and now I love you very much and only wish I could love you more and better – could love you so that you would be well always, and strong and happy; so that there would never be that discrepancy between a tragic suffering face and the serenity of the nymph’s lovely body with its little breasts and the flat belly, the long legs… that I love so tenderly, so violently.
Well I must go to mail my letters and try on my suit and act the part of a respectable literary gentleman who doesn’t sit in cafés writing love letters, of all people! – to his wife.
A letter written by Aldous Huxley to Lara Huxley
Reprinted in This Timeless Moment
Lara Huxley 1968