Will you forgive my hurried goodbye in the bar that day? I'm sorry, the numerous announcements on the other side of the ocean are urging me to leave the beautiful British Isles all the time. Happy times are fleeting, and a week of getting together is too short, now allow me to write those unspoken sincere words in the slightly bumpy cabin.
Since stepping into star-studded Hollywood, I've been living in someone else's dream. The reporter waited hard at Heathrow because I was an international superstar with a lot of scandals; Sir Lawrence chose me as his heroine, just because of the sexy label of my blond; and the writer husband who once made a pledge Arthur, maybe I'm just fascinated by my beauty.
But I'm not perfect, I have emotions and troubles just like ordinary women. It's ridiculous to say that I was so insecure about my acting that every time I walked into the set I felt a huge mass of bad luck swallowing me up. I thought Sir Lawrence would help me, but he didn't understand my restlessness at all, and berated me for not being good on camera. I was in a hysterical depression, and Arthur used it as material to write me as a mad woman in a novel! My director, my husband, ran away when he realized I wasn't the perfect goddess on the screen. You know, when I cling to my husband's manuscript and cry in the stairs, I feel as hopeless as being abandoned on a deserted island in the vast ocean.
Fortunately, I met you that night. Under the faint corridor light, your thin figure appeared at the corner of the stairs. The freckles all over his face reveal the childishness of a fledgling college student, and also exude a kind of innocence and kindness that has not been tainted by the world. You silently looked at me leaning against the wall sadly with pear blossoms and rain, and the concern in your eyes was like an electric current that warmed my heart. Then Arthur came out of the stairs, and you turned hastily. But your eyes light up my long dark night.
The past few weeks of filming have been a nightmare, and the past week with you has been the happiest. I still remember the great adventure that you shielded me from the set and took me around London. I will not forget how the spring sun, mottled by the leaves, gently sprinkled on my beige long skirt while running in a wood beside Eton College; The comfort of being swept across the skin by the cool river water. It's you who keeps me from forgetting the feeling of freedom and the pure joy of being an ordinary woman.
I've always believed that if people can't handle my worst, they don't deserve my best. Thank you for accommodating my capricious temper. I have nothing to repay, but can only send you the brightest smile and the sweetest kiss.
The plane had landed, and the cheers of the extravehicular reporters and the sound of the shutter were getting louder and louder. Paula stood at the door, signaling that it was time for me to stop writing. I put on my lipstick, put on my sunglasses, and once again played the goddess that everyone was overwhelmed with. You know, that's not really me.
Forget Marilyn Monroe, but don't forget Norma Jane Baker.
Goodbye.
Marilyn Monroe
Spring 1956
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