May
16th
Sat
16th
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
— Esther Greenwood (The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath) (via bookworm14) (via alexandraaa)
