…Branches, seas, bitterly went
into faraway eyes. Ursas
majors. voices…hushed. life. Flower.
He does not see the colour. He has the colour.
I make the shape. He doesn’t look at it.
He doesn’t give the life he has.
He has life.
Warm and white is his voice.
He stayed but never arrived. I’m leaving.
Frida Kahlo’s Diary, letters to her lover.