you're right, maybe it's nonsense, maybe there's a woman out there you can love. I don't know. I don't think I could ever love anyone else. But I know it's impossible and I don't want to be a millstone around your neck. Go, Phil. Go and be happy. You say you don't deserve me, but it is I who doesn't deserve you. Forget me. Get married and raise a dozen Italian brats. Just—if you can—keep a corner of your heart—if not for me—for the songs I wrote for you."
It was signed in a shaky hand, emotion at last betrayed.
Phil could see Nick sitting at the rickety kitchen table, perhaps with the letter Phil had left him, reading it.
That letter would have come like a thunderbolt out of a cloudless sky. Nick wouldn't have had any idea of Phil's doubts; Phil had hid them so well. Phil's letter, Phil's absence, must have been a pounding shock. And Nick had taken his life . . .while unsound of mind.
He wouldn't ever know that Phil himself
It was signed in a shaky hand, emotion at last betrayed.
Phil could see Nick sitting at the rickety kitchen table, perhaps with the letter Phil had left him, reading it.
That letter would have come like a thunderbolt out of a cloudless sky. Nick wouldn't have had any idea of Phil's doubts; Phil had hid them so well. Phil's letter, Phil's absence, must have been a pounding shock. And Nick had taken his life . . .while unsound of mind.
He wouldn't ever know that Phil himself