I want to write because I have the urge to excel in one medium of translation and expression of life. I can't be satisfied with the colossal job of merely living. Oh, no, I must order life in sonnets and sestinas and provide a verbal reflector for my 60-watt lighted head. Love is an illusion, but I would willingly fall for it if I could believe in it. Now everything seems either far and sad and cold, like a piece of shale at the bottom of a canyon - or warm and near and unthinking, like the pink dogwood.
The author expresses a deep desire to write as a means of achieving excellence in a form of communication that reflects her interpretation of life. She conveys a sense of dissatisfaction with simply existing and strives to encapsulate her experiences through structured poetry. This need for expression is tied to her self-perception and her quest for meaning, suggesting that writing gives her life purpose and clarity.
Moreover, the author grapples with feelings of disillusionment about love, acknowledging its illusory nature while still longing to believe in its possibility. Her feelings towards life oscillate between stark sadness and warmth, with vivid imagery illustrating her emotional state. The contrast between the coldness of a canyon and the warmth of a flowering tree highlights her complex relationship with the world around her.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
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