Franz Kafka (1883–1924)
Excerpt from “Letters to Milena” (1920–1923)
. . .
“An unusual error yesterday. Yesterday at noon I was so happy because of your letter (from Tuesday), and when I reread it in the evening it turned out to be essentially the same as the last letters: it is far more unhappy than it admits. The error proves how much I think only of myself, how much I’m locked inside myself, how I cling to whatever part of you I can, and how I’d like most of all to run off with it somewhere in the desert, somewhere, so that no one can take it away from me. Because I had come running into my room after dictation, because your letter surprised me there, because I read it over greedily and gladly, because nothing seemed to be written against me in bold type, because by chance my temples were only quietly knocking, because I was just lightminded enough to imagine you bedded down in the peace and quiet of forest, lake and mountains–for all these reasons and more, none of which had the slightest thing to do with your letter and your real situation, what you wrote struck me as happy and I replied with corresponding nonsense.”
. . .
