Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
Dear Sivvy,
My condolences for you; for your struggle; for the day that marked the end.
My only regret is never meeting you.
Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963)