Every time we meet, the first question that occurs to me is why, on such a short acquaintance, it seems that I have known you all my life. That you are much more familiar to me that I myself am and definitely dearer. There are points of time when I hate certain aspects of myself and wish to escape from them. But I care so much for you that even when I’m disappointed with you, hurt or angry at something you unintentionally said or did, (for I know you would never hurt a fly, you who are so gentle, kind and sympathetic to one and all), I am divided against myself, one part of me always ready to defend you against the other me who has, in a momentary lapse, put ego above love. You are my greatest strength, my biggest weakness. If you ever think you’ve found someone who cares for you more than I do, believe me, I shall give you up that very day to that lady without a word, a question, a tear. Not because I believe in feminism or martyrdom but simply because if my love means nothing to you at any point of time, what am I to do with the legal rights that marriage should endow me with? Believe me, darling, I love you too much to ever force you to love me.
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