Tuesday, 11 February 2014
There is a charge for the hearing of my heart- it really goes.
Today is the 51st anniversary of Sylvia Plath’s death, and I think the 151st of Elizabeth Siddal’s. Strange coincidence, things always seem to happen on 11ths or 22nds for me. This 11th however, brings nothing in particular. It snowed though. I watched it fall soft as chiffon past the library window as I tried to desperately cram for my subsequent maths exam, tomorrow is history and art, at least they're two fields I have some vague idea about. I can feel the last few feeble tugs of winter and all that comes with it pulling at me; little belligerent threads. I refuse to be dragged away.
(The title of this post comes from Plath’a Lady Lazarus, I'm using my phone to write this and can't find a suitable link, but will amend that as soon as I get near a laptop.)