A world that's full of happiness that I have never known

[canto_et_spero]

Найдено стихотворение, которое настолько про меня, что аж страшно.

Departure

It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.

It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go.

I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care;
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Is something the matter, dear," she said,
"That you sit at your work so silently?"
"No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea."

by Edna St. Vincent Millay
АВТОР, зачем ты ВСЁ обо мне знаешь?!!!

Здесь можно было бы добавить всяких грустных размышлений коротэнько, страниц на сорок, но не буду, не буду.

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Лучше, в самом деле, чайник поставить.