I would love to be a biographer. I want to write a completely unknown person's biography. I want to rummage through their widower's cabinets for packets of old correspondence, under the taxes and their son's college letters, tied up neatly in dusty ribbons. And then read them over and over and over, and gasp. I checked the date twice, I promise, I told my editor, and this was the day she began work on what is considered her crowning achievement.
Nobody understands anybody of course but I understand THIS. And now everyone can gasp as I did.
They never got it, not it all. Artists never want to explain. It's OK though, you'll be dead. You won't have to do anything.
I wonder if your biographer will quote our letters. I think they'll like them, that is if they haven't stopped bothering to look for letters by then in your widow's dusty bureau, or if the art of biography hasn't died out by then too.
Write me a letter that morning, either way. I don't really care about your biographer. Just remember to write me a letter.
Love,
-Citron
Nobody understands anybody of course but I understand THIS. And now everyone can gasp as I did.
They never got it, not it all. Artists never want to explain. It's OK though, you'll be dead. You won't have to do anything.
I wonder if your biographer will quote our letters. I think they'll like them, that is if they haven't stopped bothering to look for letters by then in your widow's dusty bureau, or if the art of biography hasn't died out by then too.
Write me a letter that morning, either way. I don't really care about your biographer. Just remember to write me a letter.
Love,
-Citron
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