Būna, nutinka, kai netikėtai sutinki
savo vibracijomis,
kaip chronometro taktus,
atkartojančią artimą sielą,
suklusti, patikėti negali,
kalbiesi su veidrodiniu atvaizdu,
rankovės galu pratrini aprūkusį stiklą,
priglaudi akį, žiūri lyg pro rakto skylutę,
regi kambarį, apstatytą tokiais pačiais baldais,
kaip pas tave:...
I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.
I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.
"Gillian Anderson reads Woolf’s suicide letter. Behind her, a huge photograph of waves slowly begins to move, Ravi Deepres’ video imagery gradually speeding up to become a tidal surge"