Anaïs, I don’t know how to tell you what I feel. I live in perpetual expectancy. You come and the time slips away in a dream. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. And then it is too late. You numb me.
This is a little drunken, Anaïs. I am saying to myself “here is the first woman with whom I can be absolutely sincere”. I remember your saying - “You could fool me. I wouldn’t know it”. When I walk along the boulevards and think of that. I can’t fool you - and yet I would like to. I mean that I can never be absolutely loyal - it’s not in me. I love women, or life, too much - which it is, I don’t know. But laugh, Anaïs, I love to hear you laugh. You are the only woman who has had a sense of gaiety, a wise tolerance - no more, you seem to urge me to betray you. I love you for that. And what makes you do that - love? Oh, it is beautiful to love and be free at the same time.
I don’t know what I expect of you, but it is something in the way of a miracle. I am going to demand everything of you - even the impossible, because you encourage it. You are really strong. I like even your deceit, your treachery. It seems aristocratic to me. (Does “aristocratic” sound wrong in my mouth?)
Yes, Anaïs, I was thinking how I could betray you, but I can’t. I want you. I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit - ah, I don’t know what I am saying. I am a little drunk because you are not here. I would like to clap my hands and, voilà - Anaïs! I want to own you, use you, I want to fuck you, I want to teach you things. No, I don’t appreciate you - God forbid! Perhaps I even want to humiliate you a little - why, why? Why don’t I get down on my knees and just worship you? I can’t. I love you laughingly.
Do you like that?
And, dear Anaïs, I am so many things. You see only the good things now - or at least you lead me to believe so. I want you for a whole day at least. I want to go places with you - possess you. You don’t know how insatiable I am. Or how dastardly. And how selfish!
I have been on my good behaviour with you. But I warn you I am no angel. I think principally that I am a little drunk. I love you. I go to bed now - it is too painful to stay awake. I love you. I am insatiable. I will ask you to do the impossible. What it is I don’t know. You will tell me probably. You are faster than I am. I love your cunt, Anaïs - it drives me crazy. And the way you say my name! God, it’s unreal. Listen, I am very drunk. I am hurt to be here alone. I need you. Can I say anything to you? I can, can’t I?
Come quickly then and screw me. Shoot with me. Wrap your legs around me. Warm me.
— Henry Miller to Anaïs Nin, March 21, 1932