A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea.
When you died on 11 February 1963, my mom was nine years old. My grandmother was your age: thirty. She’s eighty-one now, but to all of the world you still look like this:
Sylvia Plath.
How sad.
“The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.”-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Everyone shines from within, it’s all in the heart 🙂
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