What is there between us? It is something deeper than ourselves. When I walked away, my eyes burned and my cheeks felt hot.
Here is a passage from my first journal, written in childish hand:
Today is my birthday and mother gave me earrings and papa gave me a brooch with a carnelian stone. We had a party on the beach and papa burnt his fingers in the fire as we cooked the mutton meat. I don’t like mutton meat. I don’t like smoky fires. Papa sings badly. My dog got sick.
I suppose all that was very important to me.
Is our life important to anyone else?
P
No word from Aesop.
P
Sometimes I have to get away from everything and everyone, myself as well.