[June 4th, 1939]
Things have returned to what they once were.
Or at least, they appear to have.
We continue as before... writing, rehearsing, her performing, and myself watching from the same place I have always been. We still spend time together outside of it, speaking of music, of trivial things, of nothing at all.
It is the same.
And yet, it is not.
I have tried, for some time now, to convince myself that what I feel is nothing more than admiration. That it is natural, even expected, to think highly of someone so capable, so composed, so… her.
But that is no longer something I can pretend to believe.
The more I see her, the more I speak with her, the more I find myself unable to ignore it... the quiet, persistent ache that settles somewhere within me. It is not sudden. It does not overwhelm. It simply grows, little by little, until it becomes something I cannot set aside.
I do not think this is admiration.
I fear it is something far more difficult.
At first, I said nothing.
I thought it best to keep such things to myself. But silence, it seems, is not as easy as I once believed. It began with small things... words that linger a moment too long, compliments that may have carried more meaning than intended. A glance held just slightly beyond what is proper.
If she noticed, she gave no indication.
Or perhaps… she chose not to.
Still, I continued.
It became more difficult to restrain myself the longer I remained by her side. The words grew less subtle. The meaning, less concealed. There were moments where I thought, perhaps foolishly, that she must understand.
And I believe she does.
There are times when I speak, when I let something slip too clearly, and she laughs as she always does. Yet there is something different in it. Something quieter. Something uncertain.
It is not rejection.
But it is not acceptance either.
There are moments where I am convinced that what I feel is not returned. That I have mistaken kindness for something more. That I have, in my own foolishness, created something that does not exist.
And yet, in the next moment, she is as she was before.
Unrestrained. Warm. Speaking to me as if nothing has changed.
It is… confusing.
I do not know if she is aware of what she does. If this distance, this closeness, this constant shifting between the two is something she controls or something she does not even realize.
All I know is that it leaves me unsettled.
And it is becoming unbearable.
I find myself awake at night more often than not, thinking of her. Wondering what she feels. Wondering if there is anything at all beneath it, or if everything exists only within my own mind.
I do not know.
And I am beginning to realize that I cannot continue like this.
I need an answer.
Whatever it may be.
[August 11th, 1939]
I could not endure it any longer.
For some time, I convinced myself that I could continue as things were, that I could remain by her side, say nothing, and accept whatever place I was given. That I could live with uncertainty.
I was wrong.
It became unbearable.
So I told her.
It was not planned, not in the way I would have preferred. The words came out uneven, uncertain. I know I must have sounded foolish. Even as I spoke, I could feel the weight of it, the finality of what I was doing.
At first, she laughed.
She said I must be joking.
For a moment, I almost let her believe it. I almost agreed, almost took it back and buried it where it would cause no harm.
But I could not.
I told her I was serious.
I asked her to take it seriously.
And then...
Something in her expression changed.
I have never seen it before...
Her face fell, and for a brief moment, she looked… hurt.
Not uncomfortable. Not merely surprised.
Hurt.
Like i've ripped something away from her.
That, more than anything, was what I had not expected.
And I realized, in that moment, that I had done something I could not undo.
She tried to recover quickly. I could see it. The way she composed herself, the way she placed distance between us without stepping away. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
A barrier.
One that had not been there before.
I have never regretted anything as much as I did then.
I did not wish to hurt her. That was never my intention. Yet the more I tried to speak, to soften what I had said, the further she seemed to retreat. Every word I offered only seemed to widen the space between us.
Since then, nothing has been the same.
We try to act as we once did. In front of others, we succeed, for the most part. Even when we are alone, we pretend... continue conversations, return to music as if it has not been altered by what now exists between us.
But I can feel it.
It is there, in every silence.
Our work has changed.
She is more careful now. More guarded. The ease we once had feels distant, as though it belonged to another time. And yet, I can see that this distance pains her as well.
That may be the worst part of it.
There are moments... brief, fleeting... where everything feels as it once did. When we become absorbed in music, when we forget ourselves, she lets her guard down again. In those moments, I find something dangerously close to hope.
But it never lasts.
The moment I step too close, the moment I try to reach for something beyond what she allows, she withdraws once more.
She has not refused me.
But neither has she accepted me.
I do not know which is worse.
There are times when she speaks to me as if nothing has happened. As if I am still the same person to her. And then, without warning, she becomes distant again, careful, restrained, unreachable.
I do not know what to believe.
I do not know what she feels.
And I am beginning to feel as though not knowing is far more painful than any answer could be.
I have thought, more than once, of telling her everything, that I stayed because of her, that I have given up more than I ever intended.
But I cannot.
That was my decision.
It would be unfair to place such weight upon her.
And so I remain as I am.
Unable to move forward.
Unable to return to what once was.
When I am away from her, I find myself wishing to see her again, as though her presence alone might ease this unrest within me.
But when I am with her...
It becomes worse.
To stand beside her, to hear her voice, to see her as I always have, and yet feel that distance between us… it is a pain I do not know how to bear.
She is there.
And yet, she is beyond my reach.