dreadfully awkward and painful. I thought I was sick.
And suddenly . . . Come closer to me. Look into my eyes. Hush! Hush! Hush!
And suddenly my look became heavy—it became fixed and strange—I was even frightened! I want to glance and turn away—but cannot. I always look straight ahead, I pierce with my eyes ever more deeply, I am as though petrified. Look into my eyes. It is as though I am petrified, as though everything I look upon is petrified. Look into my eyes.
I love you. Do not laugh at my frank story, or I shall be angry. Every hour I open my sensitive heart, for all my efforts are in vain—I am alone. My one and last kiss is full of ringing sorrow—and the one I love is not here, and I seek love again, and I tell my tale in vain—my heart cannot bare itself, and the poison torments me and my head grows heavier. Am I not beautiful in my despair? Come closer to me.
I love you.
Once I was bathing in a stagnant swamp in the forest—I love to be clean—it is a sign of noble birth, and I bathe frequently. While bathing, dancing in the water, I saw my reflection, and as always, fell in love with myself. I am so fond of the beautiful and the wise! And suddenly I saw—on my forehead, among my other inborn adornments, a new, strange sign—Was it not this sign that has brought the heaviness, the petrified look, and the sweet taste in my mouth? Here a cross is darkly outlined on my forehead—right here—look. Come closer to me. Is this
