Dear Frida,

My heart is breaking in a way it has never broken before.

A light that once glowed vibrantly in my pre-war heart looks completely different now, post war....

If it were a room, it would be lightless, dusty, dim, and covered in cob webs.

I clearly see my faults, and i clearly see his faults, yet all there is, is gray. That sparkle in my eye that once was, now, is but a distant memory.

Why did I try so hard to make something work that just didn't? Why did I do that? Am I a martyr? A masochist?

The true problem is, I fell in love. More than is comphrensible to the average eye. This was an actual chemical, physical infatuation and addiction.


LM