To My Diary ….
It’s three in the night, and I am supposed to be sleeping like everyone else. No? But there is something about night, personal, close, intimidatingly intimate. There is something particularly close as I feel the touch of the lamp’s heat on my skin. The smell of the old book,.. and a tear rolls down my eye, following to the cheek, and the page swells as it absorbs it.
The characters who had been hidden under the pages of the book come alive at night, in full force and freedom. Under the lampshade of my room, from the fragrance of the old book and an older world, as Rochester walks away, he carries something of me with him… and as Jane cries, I feel the heart and the pain of loss…. And I never want the morning to break into my dream..
Glum....
