Dear Jerome...

Doc Golightly: I love you Lula Mae.

Holly Golightly: I know you do, and that's just the trouble. It's the mistake you always made, Doc, trying to love a wild thing. You were always lugging home wild things. Once it was a hawk with a broken wing... and another time it was a full-grown wildcat with a broken leg. Remember?

Doc Golightly: Lula Mae there's something...

Holly Golightly: You musn't give your heart to a wild thing. The more you do, the stronger they get, until they're strong enough to run into the woods or fly into a tree. And then to a higher tree and then to the sky.



...Well I think my problem has been being too “grand” of a person to understand life isn’t about lilies or made up of sugar. I remember being told that my problem was that I couldn’t accept reality. That I lived disillusioned an until I woke up the world around me will come smashing down on my face. A part of me still holds steady to that list of all the things I think I wanna do, of all the places I think I wanna see, of all the people I think I wanna be with—I don’t feel comfortable with you knowing that there is a list. What’s gonna happen is that I’m going to do everything that I think I want to; break out on my own, be as raunchy and as merciless as in the snap of the word FaG, make all the wrong decisions for myself, do everything I think will make me whole and by the end of that journey feel as vacant as I began. On one side there’s the prospect of Ken and Jerome always being this unit I’ll measure the rest of my life with. I love you because I felt and feel most invincible with you…I love you because seldom to never did I look into my future and see anything that we couldn’t negotiate. What couldn’t Ken and WomiE do….???—stay together??? Its like I can’t turn the faucet off, baby. I never gave up. Never. I’m sitting here now, looking out your window, in the apartment that we planned on making our home, trying to figure out how t’fix it.


I think I make myself physically ill when I think about how negligent I’ve been; how I did this, how I was the one reckless, how I could be so bold as to stare in your face and trick my eyes to say nothing, hoping you knew nothing, thinking if I kept quiet long enough time would cure my sensation for wanting to be “22”. Box myself silent. Anchor down the Phoenix. But I am wild.

If there ever were a soul in the world that should wake up today apologetic—you won’t understand the magnitude to which I love you, Jerome—the amount of love?..is dizzying. I’d cut my wrist and bleed myself dead if I could fix it. All I wanna do it fix it. And now I’m thinking about our children, that we won’t have, or the home, that we won’t buy, and all the other ideas that’ll perish in the holocaust of not knowing what follows a separation. Don’t be nice to me, Jerome…I ruined us!! I think this woulda been easier had you yelled.

But I guess kindness does kill faster...