It Seems To Me That Later On

Not Being Able To Go Outside Upsets Me More Than I Can Say, And I’m Terrified Our Hiding Place Will Be Discovered And That We’ll Be Shot.

When I Write I Can Shake Off All My Cares. My Sorrow Disappears, My Spirits Are Revived.

I Had An Occasional Flash Of Understanding, But Then Got Selfishly Wrapped Up Again In My Own Problems And Pleasures.

I Can Shake Off Everything As I Write; My Sorrows Disappear, My Courage Is Reborn.

You Can Get Around To Meaningful Conversations More Quickly In The Dark Than With The Sun Tickling Your Face.