Carta exposicion del museo de louisiana

Sophie,

I have been meaning to write and reply to your last email for a while. At the same time,
I thought it would be better to talk to you and tell you what I have to say out loud.
Still,at least it will be written.
As you have noticed, I have not been quite right recently. As if I no longer recognized myself
in my own existence. A terrible feeling of anxiety, which I cannot reallyfight, other than
keeping on going to try and overtake it, as I have always done. Whe we met, you laid down
one condition: not to become the "fourth". I stood by that promise: it has been monthsnow since I have seen the "others", because I obviously could find no way of seeing them
without making you one of them.
I thought that would be enough, I thought that loving you and your lovewould be enough so that
this anxiety - which constantly drives me to look to further afield and which means that I will never feel quiet and at rest or probably even just happy or "generous" - would becalmed when I was
with you, with the certainty that the love you have for me was the best for me, the best I have
ever had, you know that. I thought that my writing would be a remedy, that my"disquiet" would dissolve into it so that I could find you. But no. In fact it even became worse, I cannot even tell you the sort of state I am in. So I started calling the "others" again this week.And I know what that means to me and the cycle that it will drag me into.
I have never lied to you and I do not intend to start lying now.
There was another rule you laid down at the beginning ofour affair: the day we
stopped being lovers you would no longer be able to envisage seeing me. You know this
constraint can only ever strike me as disastrous, and unjust (when you still see B. andR. ...)
and understandable (obviously...); so I can never become your friend.

But now you can gauge how significant my decision is from the fact that I am prepared to bend
to your will, even...