In the morning rush hour, flowing in the crowds. Same street. Same speed. Anything different? Does the world become tender to me? My conscious is blurring. My body is lightening. Will I fly? I'm certain, I'm drifting away and fall down, down, down to the ground. I cannot hold my sight between the dark and the stimulating bright light.
Let me fall... Don't worry about my delicate black skirt or my fancy spikes, and the white carnations I bought for me this morning.
Let me fall. Let me fall softly. I hear people talking and walking by, fast. I like the feeling of lying here, releasing my tiredness away, slowly.
Who brings me here? to this quiet...quiet place where I always want to be. Rain is now falling. Flowers are flying toward me, one after another, till they cover me completely, like a velvet quilt. The balminess fills the air around me, licks dry my happy tears. In my life, I never received this many flowers—they are white, the color I like.
This is the day, I'm fully embraced by the sunlight. This is the day, frail me , can never never cry again.
April 16, 1998 Savannah (the day when I was tired)