The Writer Is By Nature A Dreamer

For You See, When Us People Who Know Run Into Each Other That's An Event. It Almost Never Happens. Sometimes We Meet Each Other And Neither Guesses That The Other Is One Who Knows. That's A Bad Thing. It's Happened To Me A Lot Of Times. But You See There Are So Few Of Us.

Listen,” F. Jasmine Said. “what I’ve Been Trying To Say Is This. Doesn’t It Strike You As Strange That I Am I, And You Are You? I Am F. Jasmine Addams. And You Are Berenice Sadie Brown. And We Can Look At Each Other, And Touch Each Other, And Stay Together Year In And Year Out In The Same Room. Yet Always I Am I, And You Are You. And I Can’t Ever Be Anything Else But Me, And You Can Ever Be Anything Else But You. Have You Ever Thought Of That? And Does It Seem To You Strange?

What Are The Sources Of An Illumination? To Me, They Come After Hours Of Searching And Keeping My Soul Ready. Yet They Come In A Flash, As A Religious Phenomenon. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter Had Such An Illumination, Beginning My Long Search For The Truth Of The Story And Flashing Light Into The Long Two Years Ahead.

Her Face Felt Like It Was Scattered In Pieces And She Could Not Keep It Straight. The Feeling Was A Whole Lot Worse Than Being Hungry For Any Dinner, Yet It Was Like That. I Want--i Want--i Want--was All That She Could Think About--but Just What This Real Want Was She Did No Know.

But The Hearts Of Small Children Are Delicate Organs. A Cruel Beginning In This World Can Twist Them Into Curious Shapes. The Heart Of A Hurt Child Can Shrink So That Forever Afterward It Is Hard And Pitted As The Seed Of A Peach. Or Again, The Heart Of Such A Child May Fester And Swell Until It Is A Misery To Carry Within The Body, Easily Chafed And Hurt By The Most Ordinary Things.