Sleepless, I see
The swollen moon
Bursting into millions
Of aimless stars
Scattered and broken,
And so beautiful.
I wonder if he,
When sleepless himself,
Thinks of me
Under our moon
And see’s beauty
Among broken mess.


Myself at Blessington Lakes, Wicklow

“I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.”

Sylvia Plath