Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (thing)

I've lost it tonight and the question that begs to be asked is have I ever had it? Walking down the deserted street at five in the morning, clutching a bag that holds the muffin that I ordered at Perkins not to eat, but so that I'd have an excuse to sit in the booth for two hours writing furiously and drinking coffee. I lost count of how many cups I drank, using it to fuel the mania that has raged inside me for the past week now. The muffin sat there untouched, but I brought it home so that my 1.50 wouldn't be wasted. Those lines popped into my head. That's the only poem I know by heart, a required recitation at the end of my senior year in high school, and I had two miles to walk before I got home.

So I started from the beginning, reciting aloud. his house is in the village though It hits me, I'm one of those crazy people wandering at night muttering to themselves. But the sound of my own voice was so reassuring to me, it was a cadence to keep me sane so that the fear wouldn't set in. I knew that once it did, I wouldn't be able to take it, I would break from reality right then and there, and the fear was very very close...the only other sound's the sweep of easy wind...under the most benign of circumstances trees scare me.

I stop after a few recitations so that I won't be a crazy person talking to herself in the middle of the night. promises to keep But I continue to repeat it in my head. I stop when I see the sign for 18th street because I live on 11th which means that there was only 7/8 of a mile left to go.