13 6 / 2011
"And all my hurts were smoothed away. Something about the frank, guileless blue eyes, the beautiful young bodies, the brief scent of the dying flowers smote me like the clean quick cut of a knife. And the blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain."
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962
