I’m all alone.
I’m wide awake in the lonely witching hours, the world sleeps, but I digress.
Loneliness is a terrifying concept.
Constantly reaching out for a hand, knowing the world won’t reach back and when it does,
Those hands are covered in oil. ■ I don’t think it is so easy to cast off loneliness as just a bad thing, isn’t
there some beauty in being alone?
Sitting in an empty space with only your ideas, unfiltered, uninhibited
I. If you google search “Emily Dickinson,” nearly 8 million results
instantly pop up, most containing short biographies, each
painting a different picture of the mythical Woman in White.
Which version do we believe? She was born in a college town that’s an hour east of my college town.
She was born on the 10th day of the 12th month, though 166
years before me.
What are the chances of that? II. She attended an all-girls’ institution
Mount Holyoke Female Seminary (I went
“I heard that he’s on the run in Connecticut good riddance scum and crackheads like him are a waste of space here, the last thing Vermont needs is another addict.” “You know I heard that the kid on the news, you know the one, his picture was up on Facebook the other day? I heard when they found him he had a needle in between his toes and all the veins in his arm were collapsed. I'm not gonna be surprised when he ODs behind Walmart someday.” “his parents should be ashamed, I w