...Nobody was going to inflict anything on her. Didn't they realize she had a mind of her? Didn't they realize she wasn't the kind of person to crack under pressure?......She loved to fly, to fantasize about the shapes in the sky and the world below, where thousands-no, millions of people moved about their lives, each altered and urged by events they could hardly fathom, and yet they continued. She wished she knew the words for this idea. If she were to write a song, would it be about courage?...
... Her notebook lay in her bag, filled with scribbles, snatches of songs...She had tried dozens of times, hundreds of times. The scraps filled her wastebasket, and phrases crowded the margins of her notebooks... even in the night, while she slept, words washed through...phrases forming and reshaping themselves, so that sometimes when she awakened in the morning, she thought she had actually done it. But when she went to write down the song, it had vanished...
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if the spirit moves you, type some words