"The reason that I haven't been writing in this book for so long is partly that I haven't had one decent coherent thought to put down.
My mind is, to use disgustingly obvious simile, like a wastebasket full of wastepaper, bits of hair, and rotting apple cores.
I am feeling depressed from being exposed to so many lives, many of them exciting, new to my realm of experience. I pass by people, grazing them on the edges, and it bothers me.
I've got to admire someone to really like them deeply- to value them as friends."
"but sometimes it feels like it's just too much
the clashing in my head, it's just too much
the constant falling down, it's just too much
but we've been dwelling in these graves, far too long
take a breath, reawake, call forth the dread in your way
subdue, prevail, triumph over every fucking day
to persevere through is
what counts is that we struggle to find the
strength in our hearts to make the days
WHAT COUNTS! WHAT COUNTS!
this is the hardest breath, that we can fucking breathe
WHAT COUNTS! WHAT COUNTS!
is that we struggle to find the peace
that exists within our hearts"
-Dear friends, Sylvia Plath, Pat Flynn.
Thank you for getting me through the days.
yours sincerly
