Nice phrase: “the summer going, unused”. It’s from a letter to Philip Larkin, by Monica Jones
You know how you are often trying to talk to me about us, & I always start to cry so you can’t; I wish I didn’t, but it just makes me cry to think of it . . . . [today] is a day that has made me think of it – the summer going, unused, the beauty of the scenery, unused. It made me very conscious of what a short time we are here for, & how little of that time we have left, you & I; it isn’t much, and for all we know it might be very short, & I wish I could spend what is left with you, or more of what is left than I do spend. I can write this, just, but I’m sure I couldn’t say it – I am not in tears, but tears are behind my eyes, making eyes & head ache. If once I start thinking of reality, all the sad things lock to mind at once . . . .
According to Alan Jenkins
she was not his “Muse”; she was that much more valuable thing, a sensitive and trusted sounding board