So I was reading T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets today, like I do, because I had finished the book I was reading and didn't want to write on my lunch hour. And so the end of "East Coker" particularly struck me, like it does.
( Rambling thoughts about T. S. Eliot and writing fic versus writing original fiction with cameo appearance by my 592nd Existential Crisis As A Writer. )
( Rambling thoughts about T. S. Eliot and writing fic versus writing original fiction with cameo appearance by my 592nd Existential Crisis As A Writer. )