[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T.S.Eliot
Monday, August 1, 2022
This year's crop
This year's crop. Not that much, after all. What remains in my hands after the sad story I've just experienced is a lot of regrets and a handful for seeds to plant. I can only wish they will bring me new fresh energy and motivation.
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