I walked around school today with that feeling-- that I am illuminating, capable, and lucky. I needed the reassurance. Then, I sat at my kitchen table for five hours, reading. Plays and Poems for college. And what is this feeling I am full of? Words I still crave... The spirit of them is in me but I cannot create their tangible body. What is this longing? This exhaustion that keeps me out of bed... what will be enough for me? After all the letters and books and quotations... all my reachings... who is this woman in me? This cry for freedom?
"a portion of that figured veil we cast against oblivion, then try, with little hope, to tear away..."
Still Life; C.K. Williams