When I Think About It, If I

I Must Write. If I Stop Writing My Life Will Have Been An Abject Failure. It Is That Already To Other People. But It Could Be An Abject Failure To Myself. I Will Not Have Earned Death.

Now At Last I Know Why I Was Brought Here And What I Have To Do.

I Want More Of This Feeling - Fire And Wings.

I Hated The Mountains And The Hills, The Rivers And The Rain. I Hated The Sunsets Of Whatever Colour, I Hated Its Beauty And Its Magic And The Secret I Would Never Know. I Hated Its Indifference And The Cruelty Which Was Part Of Its Loveliness. Above All I Hated Her. For She Belonged To The Magic And The Loveliness. She Had Left Me Thirsty And All My Life Would Be Thirst And Longing For What I Had Lost Before I Found It.

Now I No Longer Wish To Be Loved, Beautiful, Happy Or Successful. I Want One Thing And One Thing Only - To Be Left Alone.