The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.

No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.

As I lay on my back in bed staring up at the blank, white ceiling the stillness seemed to grow bigger and bigger until I felt my eardrums would burst with it.

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

People or stars Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.

Can a selfish egocentric jealous and unimaginative female write a damn thing worthwhile?