So I picked a book at the library recently containing a few years of Sylvia Plath's published journals.
Never read her before and knew little about her story.
I started reading and felt like I was experiencing another version of myself.
Where was I at age 18? A repressed writer longing to fit into this world.
My first 25 years were sacrificed to 'right around the corner.'
Ever since I've been a budding creative.
Still, her words and story haunt me.
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