Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.

Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.

But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.

Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.

Cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul.

And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness

Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.