Daisy, my darling February 14, 1922

Last night I stood out side in my yard staring intently at the green beacon across the bay that distinguishes your dock from the countless others that make up the East Egg shoreline. For a moment I felt a quiet calm, as the passengers of a dingy in tumoltues [sic] waters might feel when the swinging arm of a lighthouse passes over their sodden vessel.

But as the glow rests only momentarily on the boat, so did the peace rest on me and suddenly I realized that a near-impassible reef lay between the dreary ship of my love and the warm, sparkeling [sic] bay of yours.

The terror then was almost unbearable and I began to wish that I had never heard that paltry word that has come to represent you, the parigon [sic] of magnificent human beings. But again I thought of the afor mentioned sailors in [the] tempest. Would it be fair for them to perish without knowing how close they were to the continuation of their lives? Or would it be better for them to die with the hopeful shine of the lighthouse reflected in their eyes? Daisy, I do not know. In my soul I wish the reef would vanish and the weatherworn men would find a warm drink and a soft bed in which to spend the night. I know, though, that this is not reality and that the impossibility of our situation only makes me more determined to aspire to that which I quite probably will never attain. And my life has at least been real because if your small yet immeasurable contribution. If it hurts to breath, at least I can feel pain. Thank you Daisy, for surviving childhood to make my life live. I love you.

Gatsby

F. Scott FitzgeraldF. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby: A Love Letter