Darling love, Annie.
I just realized that one of the reasons I don't write in this book as much as I used to, is because I'm afraid. I was afraid before you came into my life--afraid of losing people I loved. Now of course that fear is so great that to survive, I feel I must be in constant motion. Don't sit down and write to Annie or you'll get too close to your love for her, then too close to your fear--something like that.
Sometimes I write as if you'll be reading this when you're 12--sometimes I write as if you'll read it now, though you're not yet 3. I guess today I'll write as if you're 30.
Maybe I shouldn't.
I have always been the person I am, I've always had the heart I have, but you have taken it over--you have changed my soul. You were inside me before you were born, but you are more inside me now.
Your face glows and your smile melts me, and never--never can I or will I be able to get as close to you as I want to. I think that's one of my greatest pains, that I can never hold you tight enough or long enough, because to satisfy me would take forever, but would first most certainly drive you insane.
These are my wishes--your health, your peace.