longing for something

February 21, 2019

So I perversely circle the late stars, drowsier and drowsier, sleepily longing for something..nothing – talking, working, eating, wondering always who am I?

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is.

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

The girl who died

April 9, 2017

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy.

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Girl-in-Red-Dress

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Lust or Love…

August 19, 2015

momentoftruth

If they substituted the word ‘Lust’ for ‘Love’ in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

writer

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

I like to wait….

February 19, 2015

intimacy

“I like to wait while his mouth kisses my neck, moving down to where my neckline goes deep, and my breasts hurt swollen a little, waiting for his hands to begin, and my hair is falling loose over my bare shoulders, and my mouth is soft and wet and wanting under his.”

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

My reading, my writing…

February 14, 2015

booksandchair

“And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.”

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Perhaps…

January 14, 2015

girl

Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath