Write From The Heart, What Has Meaning

Even, She Thought, Even Without The Gift Of Witchsight, There Was More Beauty To Be Found In The World Than Could Ever Be Snared In Language Or Music. And With The Sight.

I Wouldn't Like To Live In A World Where Everything's As Cut-and-dried As Most People Think It Is

Inside Us Lies Every Possibility That Is Available To A Sentient Being. Every Darkness, Every Light. It Is The Choices We Make That Decide Who Or What We Will Be.

I Envy The Music Lovers Hear. I See Them Walking Hand In Hand, Standing Close To Each Other In A Queue At A Theater Or Subway Station, Heads Touching While They Sit On A Park Bench, And I Ache To Hear The Song That Plays Between Them: The Stirring Chords Of Romance's First Bloom, The Stately Airs That Whisper Between A Couple Long In Love. You Can See It In The Way They Look At Each Other... You Can Almost Hear It. Almost, But Not Quite, Because The Music Belongs To Them And All You Can Have Of It Is A Vague Echo That Rises Up From The Bittersweet Murmur And Shuffle Of Your Own Memories.

Growing Up, I'd Already Decided I Wanted To Be A Beatnik. A Bohemian Poet, I Thought. Or A Musician. Maybe An Artist. I'd Dress In Black Turtlenecks And Smoke Gitanes. I'd Listen To Cool Jazz In Clubs, Getting Up To Read Devastating Truths From My Notebook, Leaning Against The Microphone, Cigarette Dangling From My Hand.