“I dread to imagine what kind of faces I was making, in my efforts to seem like the kind of person who regularly interacts with others. Even writing this email I'm feeling a little loose and dissociative. Rilke has a poem that ends: 'Who is now alone, will long remain so, / will wake, read, write long letters / and wander restlessly here and there / along the avenues, as the leaves are drifting!’” (page 17).
— Feb 05, 2025 03:29PM
Add a comment