Thank you for your letter. I have to admit tough, that it somehow stired me up. I can not really explain why. You did not wrote anything that would hurt me. Maybe it is just the tone of your words, and my not-too-shiny mood-of-the-moment, that caused it. I read it over and over again, and it somehow feels like a farewell letter. It feels like the words of a desperate girl and it made me remember, how much I want you to be happy, and how sorry I am for all the sadness I cause to you.
I will write to you. I will paint to you, and I will help you, as much as I can. If you feel like you need to talk, than I will call you, and generally I will do my best, to make this room, and your life as lively and as happy as it is possible.
You wrote, that all I see, and all I feel is welcomed here, even if it is not completely positive. I think, that this letter is an example of the latter, but I am sure, that these type of scriblings will be the tiniest minority on these walls. A moment of weakness from me. Something, that I do not just share with anybody...
I wish well,
Max Horowitz
P.s.: Find enclosed a looong-long hug, and half-a-dozen faint smiles
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