Sylvia Plath.

There’s something about her, about her writing, about the way she manipulates words that attracts me again and again.

I can never get enough of her writing. There’s something different about her, something that reaches deep into the soul and taps at feelings you didn’t know you had.

Something that grabs at your ego and rattles it so hard that it goes all fuzzy and numb for a while.

There’s something in her writing that speaks to all; to the mischievous rebel, to the wounded heart, and to reincarnated feelings.

But of all her quotable words, for me, there’s one that speaks loudest. The one that rings in my ear, reverberates in my hallow ribcage, and my head, giving me some high.

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