February 10 Thursday 11p 1949
It’s so strange and wonderful the way I’ve fallen in love with H. I’ve said that love is life’s desire for the penetration into the innermost truth of a person, the hunger for its sincerity, once it is penetrated, whether what is found is satisfactory or not decides whether the love is to continue; that is real love; or rather when real love sets in; until that penetration is achieved the emotion felt is simply the desire to achieve the penetration. That is what I’m going through with H. He lets you go so far but not far enough. But what makes the feeling more intense is that he has something worth penetrating into. And the fact that he won’t let you penetrate into it adds more power. His mind is so uniform and controlled, he’ll sit and think about an act that might otherwise have been an act of impulse. He does his “duties” so perfectly, and I mean “duties,” making friends, good conversation, he does them so easily without the disgust and contempt that I feel, he does them without shirking, but he does them sparingly, though they don’t sound insincere, I can tell he would be glad to do without them, but he passes them over his shoulder, accepting them as simple duties. There is a lot more but I feel I’m not making my self very exact which, I’m beginning to realize, is as usual.