So well she knew them both ! yet as she came
Into the room, and heard their speech
Of tragic meshes knotted with her name,
And saw them, foes, but meeting each with each
Closer than friends, souls bared through enmity,
Beneath their startled gaze she thought that she
Broke as the stranger on their conference,
And left them as she stole abashed from thence.
- Vita Sackville-West
I am trying to write. I can only manage that during night time. The shadows whisper to me: “Include me in!”. I stay silent until they begin whispering behind my back. I am fortunate for they have manners left. To the left, spot their dishonest hearts.
The end of the month is indelibly marching my way and it seems horrifying. March. A certain waterway is recollecting the drops of a memory from under the pebbles and I feel strangely discomposed. Dropping pencils on the ground. There is so much to feel and so much to do. I struggle with today and I travel by trains into the past. The roads are worn out but no one will repair them. But the sun and the clouds remain all the same.
Feathers falling down faster perhaps.