tragic tradition

this afternoon I went to see a film with my roommates,
and then walked back to my apartment . . .

. . . it was of those films that fills your head with thoughts* . . .

There is a patch of grass that wasn't trimmed, 
but taking root and gaining stability is more important than conformity 

The sun is shining and the wind is gently moving my skirt
Why must I walk into artificial light? the hallway looks so gloomy

I always think I want to be alone (too)
but then I never really do 

What do we gain in growing up? 
and, what do we lose in lack of companionship? 

*which makes me think of a quote by Tennessee Williams . . . .

"Men pity and love each other more deeply than they permit themselves to know. . . . So successfully have we disguised from ourselves the intensity of our own feelings, the sensibility of our own hearts, that plays in the tragic tradition have begun to seem untrue. For a couple of hours we may surrender ourselves to a world of fiercely illuminated values in conflict, but when the stage is covered and the auditorium lighted, almost immediately there is a recoil of disbelief. 'Well, well!' we say as we shuffle back up the aisle, while the play dwindles behind us with the sudden perspective of an early Chirico painting. "