March 25.
ONE of the remarkable points about my life is that it is so completely, hopelessly alone—a lonely, lonely life. This book of mine contains but one character—myself.
There is also the Devil—as a possibility.
And there is also the anemone lady—my dearest beloved—as a memory.
I have read books that were written to portray but one character, and there were various people brought in to help in the portraying. But my one friend is gone, and there is no person who enters into my inner life in the very least. I am always alone. I might mingle with people intimately every hour of my life—still I should be alone.
Always alone—alone.
Not even a God to worship.
How do I bear this? How do I get through the days and days?
