I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.

Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.

I am gone quite mad with the knowledge of accepting the overwhelming number of things I can never know, places I can never go, and people I can never be.

I had hoped, at my departure, I would feel sure and knowledgeable about everything that lay ahead -- after all, I had been "analyzed." Instead, all I could see were question marks.

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

I dream too much, work too little.

I didn't know what I was doing in New York.