Dear Anna;
I cannot tell you how much your letters mean. They are the life's blood of my soul, right
now.
I do want to make sure affairs are in order in case the worst happens. I've made inquiries
and signed some papers.
You will have the house in London and the money, also the money that I gave to Vera, what
she didn't manage to spend, there is still some of that, too. I know the money is nothing
to you, but please understand the comfort it brings me to know you will have something.
And I want you to have joy. I want that the way I want to have you again, in my arms, in my bed.
To know that my bright, brave, beautiful Anna will be happy means everything to me now.
I could stay 100 years in this place without going mad if I knew you were laughing,
that your eyes were shining, that you had pleasure and peace in your heart.
When death is close (even though not sure) it casts a dazzling light on being alive. It's a
power that illuminates important things and pushes the unimportant ones into shadow, it
helps people to see more clearly, and I am seeing things now I couldn't before. I can see
that I was afraid at times to even think of you wanting to be with me, because I couldn't
see why you would want me-especially knowing the whole truth of my flawed life and
decisions. I held back.
If we have another chance, I will not hold back. Not on any front. I will love you every
way there is to love you, I will find ways, invent ways to love you. The privilege of
loving you will not be wasted on me for an instant. Your contentment will be my religion.
But if the worst happens, I ask you to do one thing that will give me peace, even in those
last darkest moments on the gallows. The one thought that will give me comfort will be
your happiness. I've never wanted anything so hungrily. No one has ever meant so much to
me. Please promise me if the worst happens you will go on new adventures and find all the
joy you can hold - and that will be your tribute to me.
I love you, I love you, my Anna.
John