To the Lighthouse
For now she need not think about anybody.
She could be herself, by herself. And that
was what now she often felt the need of—to
think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.
All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering,
vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of
solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of
darkness, something invisible to others.