It Is Strange How Sad It Can

For The First Time She Had Dimly Realized That Only The Hopeless Are Starkly Sincere And That Only The Unhappy Can Either Give Or Take Sympathy--even Some Of The Bitter And Dangerous Voluptuousness Of Misery.

Very Few People Change After Well Say Seven Or Seventeen. Not Really. They Get More This Or More That And Of Course Look A Bit Different. But Inside They Are The Same.

Every Word I Say Has Chains Round Its Ankles; Every Thought I Think Is Weighted With Heavy Weights.

As Soon As I Turned The Key I Saw It Hanging, The Color Of Fire And Sunset. The Colour Of Flamboyant Flowers. ‘if You Are Buried Under A Flamboyant Tree, ‘ I Said, ‘your Soul Is Lifted Up When It Flowers. Everyone Wants That.’ She Shook Her Head But She Did Not Move Or Touch Me.

It Was The Darkness That Got You. It Was Heavy Darkness, Greasy And Compelling. It Made Walls Round You, And Shut You In So That You Felt Like You Could Not Breathe.