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mortally-coiled: A letter from Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald.  TO SCOTT(Fall 1930)Goofy, my darling, hasn’t it been a lovely day? I woke up this morning and then sun was lying like a birth-day parcel on my table so I opened it up and so many happy things went fluttering into the air: love to Doo-do and the remembered feel of our skins cool against each other in other mornings like a school-mistress. And you ‘phoned and said I had written something that pleased you and so I don’t believe I’ve ever been so heavy with happiness. The moon slips into the mountains like a lost penny and the fields are black and pungent and I want you so near so that I could touch you in the autumn stillness even a little bit like the last echo of summer. The horizon lies over the road to Lausanne and the succulent fields like a guillotine and the moon bleeds over the water and you are not so far away that I can’t smell your hair in the drying breeze. Darling — I love these velvet nights. I’ve never been able to decide whether the night was a bitter enemie or a “grand patron” — or whether I love you most in the eternal classic half-lights where it blends with day or in the full religious fan-fare of mid-night or perhaps in the lux of noon — Anyway, I love you most and you ‘phoned me just because you ‘phoned me to-night — I walked on those telephone wires for two hours after holding your love like a parasol to balance me. My dear — (from Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda) ‘Goofy, my darling, Oh God I love them so much
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mortally-coiled: A letter from Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald.  TO SCOTT(Fall 1930)Goofy, my darling, hasn’t it been a lovely day? I woke up this morning and then sun was lying like a birth-day parcel on my table so I opened it up and so many happy things went fluttering into the air: love to Doo-do and the remembered feel of our skins cool against each other in other mornings like a school-mistress. And you ‘phoned and said I had written something that pleased you and so I don’t believe I’ve ever been so heavy with happiness. The moon slips into the mountains like a lost penny and the fields are black and pungent and I want you so near so that I could touch you in the autumn stillness even a little bit like the last echo of summer. The horizon lies over the road to Lausanne and the succulent fields like a guillotine and the moon bleeds over the water and you are not so far away that I can’t smell your hair in the drying breeze. Darling — I love these velvet nights. I’ve never been able to decide whether the night was a bitter enemie or a “grand patron” — or whether I love you most in the eternal classic half-lights where it blends with day or in the full religious fan-fare of mid-night or perhaps in the lux of noon — Anyway, I love you most and you ‘phoned me just because you ‘phoned me to-night — I walked on those telephone wires for two hours after holding your love like a parasol to balance me. My dear — (from Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda) ‘Goofy, my darling, Oh God I love them so much
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mortally-coiled:


A letter from Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald.
 

TO SCOTT
(Fall 1930)

Goofy, my darling, hasn’t it been a lovely day? I woke up this morning and then sun was lying like a birth-day parcel on my table so I opened it up and so many happy things went fluttering into the air: love to Doo-do and the remembered feel of our skins cool against each other in other mornings like a school-mistress. And you ‘phoned and said I had written something that pleased you and so I don’t believe I’ve ever been so heavy with happiness. The moon slips into the mountains like a lost penny and the fields are black and pungent and I want you so near so that I could touch you in the autumn stillness even a little bit like the last echo of summer. The horizon lies over the road to Lausanne and the succulent fields like a guillotine and the moon bleeds over the water and you are not so far away that I can’t smell your hair in the drying breeze. Darling — I love these velvet nights. I’ve never been able to decide whether the night was a bitter enemie or a “grand patron” — or whether I love you most in the eternal classic half-lights where it blends with day or in the full religious fan-fare of mid-night or perhaps in the lux of noon — Anyway, I love you most and you ‘phoned me just because you ‘phoned me to-night — I walked on those telephone wires for two hours after holding your love like a parasol to balance me. My dear —


(from Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda)

‘Goofy, my darling,

Oh God I love them so much

(Source: ignify)

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