My Dear Sylvia,
I should have shown my passion, my commitment to you.
Since I lost myself in “The Bell Jar” and found you it gnaws away me. Finally a start to what is inside you and what is inside me…
Dedication to “The voice inside you which do not stop” and your melancholic soul…
I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about numb as a slave in some private, totalitarian state.
I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.
* Excerpt from the poem Mirror and from the novel The Bell Jar.
Thanks to...
Gözde Çekiç (model)
