morning, blue sky and bright sunlight, you can see very fine mist floating just above the wet grass, and I can hear cows lowing—mooing always sounds so—I don't know—too dumb and farmyardy, I think cows have such expressive eyes
Gerard you're forgetting I'll never be able to walk. I don't ever doubt your love for me but
there's a girl riding a horse along the footpath, wearing really smart riding clothes, beautifully cut, all fawns and tans and creams, she's really good-looking which sort of leads in to what I have to say
Sooner or later you're going to meet, I mean fall in love with a girl who can walk and run and swim and dance with you—and not just one, maybe lots of girls. I know you don't think so, you believe you'll always love me, but we have to be sensible, realistic. All those hateful words...
If I were braver I'd try to pretend to feel less, to make it easier for you. But I'm not that brave. I do love you, Gerard, and I know I'll be jealous when you fall in love with someone else. In fact I'd rather you didn't tell me when it happens—see, I'm already preparing myself—because I don't want us to stop writing whatever happens, and if I knew you were in love with another girl I might stop writing out of jealousy. Now it sounds as if I'm telling you to lie to me, which
isn't
what I wanted to say
I'll try again. If you could see me, you'd see the girl in the wheelchair, the paraplegic, the disabled person. All the labels. I don't think that's how you think of me now, but if you saw me you wouldn't be able to help it. It's not really sympathy I'm most afraid of. It's your disappointment. Us meeting and then breaking up. I couldn't bear that.
Do you know what happens to the Lady of Shalott, in the poem? She lives alone in her tower, quite content, weaving her magic web of colours. But she has a magic mirror that shows her the road to Camelot, knights and ladies and young lovers coming and going, and one day she sees Lancelot riding by, the handsomest of all the knights, and falls in love with him. The magic mirror cracks, the web breaks, she lies down in her boat and floats along the river to Camelot, singing until she dies.
Maybe my window is my magic mirror. I just think if we can be content with what we have, we might keep it for ever. You'll say—anyway you'll think—I'm a coward and maybe I am. But please try to understand, and go on loving me as we are.
Now I'll tell you
my
dream. It was after lunch, I was really tired, so I lay down on my bed and went to sleep. Then I dreamed I woke up and could move my legs—I often can, in dreams—and you were lying beside me, looking so beautiful—that's the only word that feels right—and so overjoyed to see me. Then we started kissing, and suddenly I realised that neither of us had any clothes on. This is why I was too shy to tell you before, but in the dream I wasn't shy at all, it just felt absolutely right. It felt wonderful, to be honest, so wonderful I—well anyway, then I woke up and cried for ages because you weren't there any more.
I do hope you'll understand. I'll always be, with all my heart,
Your invisible lover,
Alice.
P.S. My dream might even have been the same day as yours, only mine was in the afternoon and yours was at night. Wouldn't that be amazing?
And a fortnight later:
...How silly I forgot to say, I was so worried about the other part of that letter. Yes it was, it
was
Tuesday the 3rd of March when I had my dream—
our
dream—and of course you're right about the time being different, three o'clock in the afternoon for me was about half-past one the next morning for you. That's just so magical. I truly am, with all my heart
your invisible lover
Alice
At first I thought she was only waiting for me to persuade her. How could the wheelchair make any difference once we were lying together as we'd been in the dream? She must know how utterly I adored her. Gently, lovingly, she met every entreaty with the same reply. As things were,
Gerard you're forgetting I'll never be able to walk. I don't ever doubt your love for me but
there's a girl riding a horse along the footpath, wearing really smart riding clothes, beautifully cut, all fawns and tans and creams, she's really good-looking which sort of leads in to what I have to say
Sooner or later you're going to meet, I mean fall in love with a girl who can walk and run and swim and dance with you—and not just one, maybe lots of girls. I know you don't think so, you believe you'll always love me, but we have to be sensible, realistic. All those hateful words...
If I were braver I'd try to pretend to feel less, to make it easier for you. But I'm not that brave. I do love you, Gerard, and I know I'll be jealous when you fall in love with someone else. In fact I'd rather you didn't tell me when it happens—see, I'm already preparing myself—because I don't want us to stop writing whatever happens, and if I knew you were in love with another girl I might stop writing out of jealousy. Now it sounds as if I'm telling you to lie to me, which
isn't
what I wanted to say
I'll try again. If you could see me, you'd see the girl in the wheelchair, the paraplegic, the disabled person. All the labels. I don't think that's how you think of me now, but if you saw me you wouldn't be able to help it. It's not really sympathy I'm most afraid of. It's your disappointment. Us meeting and then breaking up. I couldn't bear that.
Do you know what happens to the Lady of Shalott, in the poem? She lives alone in her tower, quite content, weaving her magic web of colours. But she has a magic mirror that shows her the road to Camelot, knights and ladies and young lovers coming and going, and one day she sees Lancelot riding by, the handsomest of all the knights, and falls in love with him. The magic mirror cracks, the web breaks, she lies down in her boat and floats along the river to Camelot, singing until she dies.
Maybe my window is my magic mirror. I just think if we can be content with what we have, we might keep it for ever. You'll say—anyway you'll think—I'm a coward and maybe I am. But please try to understand, and go on loving me as we are.
Now I'll tell you
my
dream. It was after lunch, I was really tired, so I lay down on my bed and went to sleep. Then I dreamed I woke up and could move my legs—I often can, in dreams—and you were lying beside me, looking so beautiful—that's the only word that feels right—and so overjoyed to see me. Then we started kissing, and suddenly I realised that neither of us had any clothes on. This is why I was too shy to tell you before, but in the dream I wasn't shy at all, it just felt absolutely right. It felt wonderful, to be honest, so wonderful I—well anyway, then I woke up and cried for ages because you weren't there any more.
I do hope you'll understand. I'll always be, with all my heart,
Your invisible lover,
Alice.
P.S. My dream might even have been the same day as yours, only mine was in the afternoon and yours was at night. Wouldn't that be amazing?
And a fortnight later:
...How silly I forgot to say, I was so worried about the other part of that letter. Yes it was, it
was
Tuesday the 3rd of March when I had my dream—
our
dream—and of course you're right about the time being different, three o'clock in the afternoon for me was about half-past one the next morning for you. That's just so magical. I truly am, with all my heart
your invisible lover
Alice
At first I thought she was only waiting for me to persuade her. How could the wheelchair make any difference once we were lying together as we'd been in the dream? She must know how utterly I adored her. Gently, lovingly, she met every entreaty with the same reply. As things were,
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