January 14th, 1975

Bright sunlit morning feels like early spring late winter. Richard is on my mind. I close my eyes and see his face, hear his voice. I roll over in bed at night to touch. His body is so warm, always– and soft. How I love to hold him.

I wake up every morning in a panic. I want to go home. Nine of the problems are insurmountable. I just want to go home. It’s my own immaturity that won’t allow me to be happy. Richard does care for me. I know that. How can I throw away a relationship with my lover of three years simply because I found out he does not love me with the hand-wringing fervor with which I love him? No one is ever going to love me that way.

I am hurting inside. 

I have talked with Richard on the phone. He is beside himself. He doesn’t want to create a life without me. He just wants me back– for us to work things out.

How can we? How will we?

The fact is that these past few days on my own have been exhilarating– as well as painful.