It took me twenty-one years and two attempts, but by God, I've finished wading through Look Homeward Angel - and I loved it. I know these people - they're my people. All the melodrama, the repressed feelings, the hateful cutting comments, the sense of loneliness and loss - I understood every word, every sensation. I recognize the ugliness and the beauty, and I value both equally. It makes me want to start writing again.
On the ride into work this morning I let myself be lost in the foggy mist and enjoyed the last of the snow from this past weekend. It will no doubt be gone soon, soaked into the ground as if it never existed. Snow for me has always held a deeper meaning. I am happiest when it snows, yet I couldn't begin to explain why. So I looked out the window, imagining romantic characters striding across the pure white expanses, and just breathed in the beauty. Snow wraps around the seemingly dead landscape, and whispers promises of rebirth and renewal as it gently cradles the world in its soft, white blanket.
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