What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, some-where very near, just round the corner. All is well.

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonder-ful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socra-tes and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make our promises that time.
ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ