My feelings.

Very few truly consider them anymore, my feelings, and that is perfectly acceptable. For today, this is how I feel. I hope I can feel this way for all days, toujours. It seems less depressing, more easy to feel this way, though the speaker did die by her own hands. With this preface, I give you my feelings: 

"With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone, it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second, you have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand...hopeless from the start. A story, a picture, can renew sensation a little, but not enough, not enough. Nothing is real except the present, and already I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know, I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die."

Written by my darling Sylvia Plath.