I dreamed that the me I dreamed to be was best not being

I wrote a long paper abt you once.  Yet I think it's been ripped up
since then.  Anyway, it said how I dreamed you were my ideal.  And
you had come, at long last, to help me.

In that paper I told how you disappointed me.  And yet, through your
disappointing me I became stronger, I said.  I once agn had to stand alone
on my own.

And I tried in that long paper to say it was good.  I should, and would,
completely throw out the desire, need, for any human crutch.

But I lied in that paper.  I had wanted to confide in you.  Get sympathy,
kindness, etc., etc., too much.  And when I didn't I tried to make out
that I was better for it.

And that was my dream:

That you came, but you were not the she that I expected and demanded, and
i realized what better gifts the opportunity had to give me.  I would lock
my better self away and be glad that you had come to make it so agn.

I wrote that long paper abt me once, to lie to myself and then to rip it up:

I cannot run from myself while running from wolves I dressed in sheep's
clothing.  Or is it sheep I have dreamed as wolves?  It is no concern to 
me now, what I have made of sheep and wolves and bits of reality.

Yet, hoping for once to be able to let go of my dreams, to lie to myself
successfully, I wrote a long paper abt me, intending it to be abt you.

Hoping, for once, to be the person I did not dream to be; in my peace, in
my seclusion, I attempted to stuff my dreams into a hole to die, in order 
that this I might survive, here and now.

I wrote that paper dreaming agn that my dreams were not the dreams for the
me I dreamed myself to be.  


                        October 15, 1974