There Is No Doubt That Running Away

I Have Tried," I Said, "but He Does Not Believe Me. It Is Too Late For That Now" (it Is Always Too Late For Truth, I Thought).

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.

The Musty Smell, The Bugs, The Lonliness, This Room, Which Is Part Of The Street Outside-this Is All I Want From Life.

What You Take To Be Hyprocrisy Is Sometimes A Certain Caution, Sometimes Genuine, Though Ponderous, Childish, Sometimes A Mixture Of Both.

Next Week, Or Next Month, Or Next Year I Will Kill Myself. But I Might As Well Last Out My Month's Rent, Which Has Been Paid Up.