i meant to kill myself but this poem popped into my head
and i had to write it down. then another poem came into mind.
and another. and this went on for a while. until i slowly replaced
knives with pens.
There is something at the bottom of every new human thought, every thought of genius, or even every earnest thought that springs up in any brain, which can never be communicated to others, even if one were to write volumes about it and were explaining one’s idea for thirty-five years; there’s something left which cannot be induced to emerge from your brain, and remains with you forever; and with it you will die, without communicating to anyone perhaps the most important of your ideas.