Florence Deshon Airplane Letter

A very, very rough transcription of Florence Deshon's letter to Max Eastman about flying.
I have written [?] next to words I am unsure about and in some cases in place letters/words I couldn't quite make out.


Beloved, you will be jealous when I tell you of my adventure today. I have been flying: it was a lovely sunless day, and I thought I would like to fly, so I drove over to the ariation[?] field and said to the man, I would like to fly. He put a suit and hat and goggles on me and in ten minutes I was in the air. We kept going higher and higher, but the pilot promised to
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 turn the corners slowly, and to start down as soon as I wished. I loved it loved it. I was ??? I had to fly over a town I should have loved just looked down on h[??]r green fields. I didn’t like the house tops. I should think birds would hate the city. It looks as immovable and as hard too. I stayed up fifteen minutes I was sorry
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to come down. Let us write each other conversations as this[?] [??] mine[??] talking together in the t[??]. I feel ear(?) a little because in your letters you seem to feel that you must out here again. I wouldn’t have you come for any thing unless it just appealed to you as an adventure. How we jump from black despair to brightest hope. I am all excited again
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 and happy. The offers I had were for only one picture, but they were all leading parts and $400 was the salary. I might be [?????] from Goldmeyer[?] they are asking $300 for me and I would get my salary from them and the not. Nothing more has happened, but I have been offered a central as soon as I finish with Goldmeyer. I will tell you more about it when it is settled. Do not forget me sweetheart. Florence.


 Besides the adorable whimsy and heart of this story, I think this letter is also a gem because it is a small, tender moment in a dialogue of letters fraught with panicked love, a love that seems to be splintering in the miles that separate them, and the worries of maintaining such a love. Nearly every letter is about the state of their relationship in some capacity. And so my heart melts when Deshon writes "Let us write each other conversations as this." In this small sample of letters, we may divine a haunting sense of Florence as such a lovely, sad, and tender figure, one who seems to desire the stillness of a simple love in the panic and depression of Hollywood.