The end is always a surprise, no matter how much we expect it.

And here comes the dreaded end.

Or, perhaps, it is a welcome relief.

The yelling climaxes and insults are exchanged.

Hearts, with fresh wounds, finally break.

If this were a surprise, we wouldn't have to fake tears.

And that seemingly inviolable contract that is "love" is broken.

This all somehow seems surreal.

Like a joking promise that is actually fulfilled.

And there is the door you're about to walk out of.

Suddenly I want you back.

Now the tears are real.

Yet my pride won't let me call for you.

The door closes with such great finality.

My eyes blink slowly, as if in shock.

There is no sound. Nothing.

What is there to do now?

Other than resignation.

Other than pretending.

"No, I'm not upset at all."

A warm afternoon gives us all an out-pouring of emotion.

You close the blinds with such a dignified nature that I scarcely think you belong here. Your form is highlighted in the dim lights and I can't remember you ever looking so good. The air inside the room smells stale, but I am gulping it in anyways.

"I think the air conditioner is broken" you say in your unassuming manner.

Somehow, I find this statement romantic- so, I smile back at you. You draw closer to me and I feel so insecure. I try to look away, but you refuse my desire. You give me some of your pride, like it was a gift.

"Let's turn on the radio," I whisper, wanting the sound of the radio to block out the silence.

A symphony of simplistic sounds fills the air. We watch each other as it plays on, sweat dripping down our faces.

I curse myself for feeling enchanted by you. I curse you for even giving me a second glance. Yet, my dear friend Folly eases my troubled mind.

I look on as you hum to the music. The slits of light made by the blinds lulls me into serenity. It is almost time for you to leave...

A love note to love.

Dear Love,

You are evasive to the point of non-existence. I often-times look for you only to find our paths have not crossed. Are you ignoring me? Perhaps I have offended you in such a manner as to make you want to hide. If so, I apologize.

Sometimes I don't miss you at all, convincing myself that you aren't worth it anyways. Folly has never left me high and dry, and Lust has never turned a cold shoulder. Yet, when I am with them, I only think of you.

It's unfair, you know, to make me want you so badly. Infatuation is unbecoming, but you make me wear it like a uniform. You take away my confidence and my reason like they are your property. All I can say is damn you to hell.

And one day, hopefully, I will be a sinner.

With mercurial regards,

An admirer

A woman's heart is a mystery...

Nothing More.

Nothing Less.

A sigh in the night air.

A light in the night sky.

A cool tingle on the skin.

A burning fire in the heart.

A Wonder.

A Normality.

Nothing More.

Nothing Less.

A laugh at an awkward silence.

A cry to fill the air.

An abandonment that nearly kills.

An acceptance that comes with age.

A Hope.

A Heart.

Nothing More.

Nothing Less.

Sage advice is often the folly of wisdom.

Teach me how to love and I might give some to you.

I may not be a valedictorian, but I am most likely to succeed.

I can promise that I don't know how it will all turn out.

But, uncertainty aside, I have a pretty good feeling.

And that's all I need for the moment.

We may not be in love, but we are in the midst of happiness.

In fact, let's never say those three words.

I'd rather know you're here, than hear you're in love.

It's ironic, but we know better than to be serious.

The outside world may scoff, but they're not laughing at us- they're laughing at themselves.

My unyielding mind and my tempted heart.

Bitter sentimentality plagues my normally crystalline thought.

I look forward, watching as the landscape becomes indistinguishable.

If I were bold, I would run back.

I would be unafraid of what the consequences would be.

But, I face the reality that I am meek.

And here my feet remain, a testament to my conquerable spirit.

If I were romantic, I would try to win you back.

I would be unafraid of the hours I would have to spend to find you.

But, I face the reality that I am cold.

And here I remain, resigning myself to unhappiness.

The sound of the wind fills my ears as I stand there.

My hope feels withered and worn, aged by your indifference.

For all of this, I still know I love you.

I turn on my heels and walk away, feeling the sun warm my back.

A nail in the coffin for your love.

Here I am, yet my placement seems ambivalent to you.

There you are and you are a landmark.

If your hands were mine to hold, I would release myself into the oblivion.

I know it will never come to pass, but fallacy always was my lover.

I feel frozen in front of you, solid like a bust of gold.

Oh, that you were my King Midas.

The hearts that beat between us give off discordant rhythms.

Somehow the beats makes sense.

They tell me you are not mine to have.

I sadly resign myself to it- to be a martyr of love.

And so my hearts spills its blood, like a sacred lamb.

A sacrifice to a world that gave me no consolation.

To be the lifeless is my destiny.

I will walk among the living without a fear.

For there is no fear if there is no love.

With each blink, I fall in love with you more...

There are small brown flecks inside the pool of blue. The pupil does a small dance of dilation, seemingly undulating in the semi-darkness. The eyelashes are unpronounced, making the rest of the eye look much more masculine.

I am not sure what to do with these eyes as they trace across my figure. Should I continue to look into them? Or should I turn away? I would be lying if I said these eyes are unattractive. These eyes are the eyes of an ordinary man; they do not hint to anything bubbling below the surface, yet they do light up with a sort of youthful mirth. Yes, there is nothing unique about these eyes. Then, why do I keep looking into them?

Forever is just another word for temporary

Chris was a typical man's man. He looked like anyone you would meet on the street: slightly thickening around the middle, a bald patch that was consistently growing, and an omnipresent five o'clock shadow etched into his jaw line. The most important thing to him was his family.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
7:45 AM
My alarm clock is telling me to get up. I roll over and slam down on it. My wife squirms a little, trying not to wake up. I get out of the bed and walk over to my bathroom. I look into the mirror and see bags forming under my eyes. I guess if I were vain I would care… I step on the scale (a morning ritual instituted by my wife). She wants me to lose ten pounds by the end of the month. I look down to see that I have actually gained a couple of pounds. Oh, well… The shower is now steaming up the room. There's so much water in the air that I can barely breathe…
8:05 AM
I drop my towel on the ground.
"Chris!" my wife screeches from the bed. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Put your damn towel on the fucking rack."
I nod and leave the towel sit there on the floor- it won't hurt. I can feel her scornful looks from across the room, but I am not going to acknowledge it. I pull up my pants very slowly, trying not to fall over and hurt myself. Finally they are up and I suck in my gut as I zip them. I now pull on my worn work-shirt that has "Wayne's Heating and Cooling" embroidered on the front.
"Alright, Marsha," I say to her quietly," I won't be home until five. Call me if you need anything."
I kissed her on the cheek and walked out of the room. I can't help but feel like a scolded puppy as I close the bedroom door.
8:45 AM
I finally get to the company headquarters. I clamber out of my truck and grab my cup of coffee. It has become lukewarm during the drive, but I am in need of the caffeine. Inside the office, which is really just an old trailer, my boss is sifting through annoying paper-work. He gives me a half-hearted smile and I am pretty sure he still hasn't bothered to memorize my name. I have become accustomed to the fact that I won't be anyone important, but the least this prick could do it to learn my damn name.
I get my assignments and get the hell out of this crap shack.
9:19 AM
I am pulling out in front of the first house of the day. It is a small brownstone that is obviously home to a small family. I look and see several cars in the driveway. It is as inconspicuous as my own home. I can see the clusters of children's toys strewn about the yard as if there were some sort of explosion.
I walk towards the air conditioning unit. I can already tell that this one is going to be a bitch to fix. But, I pull out my wrench and begin to work as quickly as I can. I think about Marsha and I bang against the unit. I know there is something wrong between us, but- Lord knows why. I mean, here I am, busting my ass just for her sake. Yet, she hates me. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I'll be damned if I am crying. I slam the wrench down onto the ground and punch the side of the building, trying to prevent that emotive liquid from spilling onto my cheeks.
10:13 AM
I put my tools back into the truck. They clatter against the metal bed, making much more noise than needed. I walk up to the front door and knock on the dark wood. I can hear the clambering inside and I chuckle at myself (the poor schmuck inside must have tripped on a toy). He finally answers the door. He is a middle-aged man, nothing too important about him. He looks like he's just gotten out of bed.
"Chris Leibowitz," I say as I offer my hand. "I was out here fixing you air conditioning unit; looks like everything is in order."
"Thank God," the man says as he smiles," my wife was about to go off her rocker trying to keep cool. I'm Charlie Peterson. How about you come inside while I get your check ready?"
He motions for me to come inside and I follow. His house is very nice- much nicer than my own. I can see the fancy hardwood flooring and chandeliers that look almost too immaculate for a suburban home. I am led into a small kitchen that looks as though it was used recently.
"Hey, Chris," he says as he scuttles around," if you'd like some toast, there is some on the table."
I nod to him and sit down on a rickety chair. I flip through the papers on the table while I wait for him.
I hear someone bump into the table and curse. I look up…
10:17 AM
"What the hell are you doing here, Marsha?" I am yelling, my heart feels like a hammer.
"Please, Chris," she tries to soothe me," don't be so upset…"
"How can I not be upset? My wife is in some stranger's home."
She is looking down to the ground, but I can tell she doesn't regret getting caught. I watch her breathe in and out. I don't know what to do other than stand here and watch her.
"You've fucked him- haven't you?" I finally whisper, too afraid to say it out loud.
"I have." She says it so loudly I jump.
"You whore… Awful proud of what you've done, huh?"
"Charlie is twice the man you'll ever be, asshole."
The door to the kitchen opens and Charlie walks in, unaware of the situation. Yet, he looks at the two of us and quickly gathers what is happening.
"Jesus Christ," he says in a raspy voice.
Marsha quickly shoves Charlie back out of the room and tries to make herself look proper. I can only look at her, horrified.
"You know I love you," I say as she turns around to face me. "And, despite my better judgment, I still do. For fifteen years- fifteen fucking years- Marsha, I have been working my ass off to make a good life for us. I never even looked at another girl the whole time I've been with you. So, what the hell is this? What is it this guy gives you that I don't? It's obvious that I've spent the last fifteen years devoting my life to a person that doesn't give a shit about me."
The air is so stuffy after I finish and I pull at my shirt to relieve it. She looks at me as though I am some sort of bug. My head feels like it is about to fucking explode. Yet, I continue to look at her as she shrugs everything off nonchalantly.
She finally opens her mouth and speaks," Does it really matter why I did it? I needed an outlet and Charlie was here for me. I wish I could say I feel bad, but I don't. I'm glad you know."
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" I scream as I finally black out.
The linoleum feels rights under my skin; a painful respite from reality.
11:36 AM
I wake up in a hospital room. It smells horribly clean in this room and my lungs feel like they are going to shrivel up. For the briefest of moments, I think that it was only a dream, but I know better than to believe it. My head hurts so much and thinking about Marsha makes each nerve throb. I look around my room, but there is no one here for me. And, suddenly, I feel like a child in this room. I am so scared and lonely, utterly defenseless against everything. I want someone- anyone- to sit here with me. How dare I be faced with this alone…
A doctor enters my room, smiling. He has a lab-coat on that is several sizes too big, further attesting to the fact that he looks like he is twelve.
"You gave us quite a scare," he says absent-mindedly as he takes my temperature. "Your wife says that you were rather distraught about some news you got today and you collapsed."
"Yeah," I mumble, not wanting to make eye contact.
"The good news is that you can be discharged within the hour. You should feel lucky that it wasn't more serious."
I hope this doctor is fucking kidding me. There is no such thing as lucky in my world.
12:41 PM
I am walking out to the bus stop. I don't know where my car is or anything. But, my things aren't what I am missing. I hate myself for thinking it, but I miss Marsha so much. I wish I hadn't found out her secret. I would have rather lived in blissful ignorance than this.
I sit on a bench next to an old, homeless man as I wait for the bus. I can smell the whiskey on him and I have a sudden urge to get drunk. I can almost feel the burn settling into my throat. My hands are shaking like I'm an alcoholic.
A bus slowly pulls up to the curb and I am jarred from my thoughts. I board the bus and I immediately hate it- it is far too bright for me to see correctly and there are horrible smells coming from each of the seats. I sit down next to a window and press my face against the glass. It has a cooling effect upon my skin and I am finally able to breathe in correctly. The scenery outside passes by quickly as the bus picks up speed.
1:32 PM
I am sitting in a dimly lit bar. There are smoke clouds drifting through the air like lackadaisical clouds. The dense murmur from the other bar guests buzzes in my ear so that I can barely hear. My scotch is sitting on the bar counter and it is in need of refreshing. I motion for the bartender and he brings me a new glass, filled to the brim. I shake my head as I take a giant gulp.
"You ok, pal," a young woman says as she pulls herself onto one of the barstools.
I look up and finally notice her. She is looking rather expectantly at me, but I don't bother acknowledging her.
"You could talk to me," she says a little louder, determined to be known. "I'm really good at heart-aches and stuff like that…"
"If you want a free drink, just ask," I grumble.
"I don't want to drink. I want to help."
I roll my eyes in her direction and go back to my scotch. But, something makes me look back up at her. She almost looks like Marsha, but she has such a kindly look upon her face. Something about this young lady makes me want to trust her.
"Listen," I say quietly, half-hoping she won't even hear me," I'm not all that good at explaining these things."
"It's ok," she jumps at my neediness. "I am a very good listener."
She moves to the barstool next to me, making me a little uncomfortable. She nods her head, telling me to continue.
"It happened to me. I always said that I was going to have a life that was respectable. I was going to work hard for my money, be devoted to my wonderful life, and have some kids. It all changed today. I worked fifteen years for that bitch to have a good life and she ruins it all. In bed with some man that has a family of his own. What am I going to do? I am stuck in a nightmare and suddenly I am scared. I've never been scared before. No, I'm sure I haven't. Yet, here I am. I am a grown man that's terrified and alone. I couldn't have deserved this… I don't know what I'm going to do."
Tears began to pour down my face and I am suddenly ashamed. I try to haphazardly cover my face, but I can feel the young woman peering through. She looks at me as though I am a charity case, but I delight in her pity.
"She really fuck you over…" The young woman muses as she sips on some frilly drink. "I've been there myself. Had to divorce my husband for cheating on me. It never gets easy…"
I look at her again and notice how old she really is. From far away I thought she was in her mid-thirties, but, now that she is sitting in front of me, I see she is in her fifties. Now I feel awkward next to her, not wanting to be around a mother-type figure. She doesn’t seem to notice my unease as she continues to focus on her drink. Fear begins to grip me as I see myself in this woman. My heart begins to shudder in my chest as I look down at her.
"Am I going to become you?" I finally ask, unable to keep it inside.
She gets up from the bar and rubs her hand on my cheek. I pull away from her, disgusted at both of us. I am unsure what to make of this encounter. Perhaps she is some sort of vision sent to me from some greater body.
I run to the bathroom as I feel vomit travel up my throat.
2:50 PM
"Daddy!" My daughter comes running up to me with great excitement. I pull her into a hug as I begin to feel the stresses melt away.
"I missed you, sweet-heart," I say as I hold her.
"I missed you too, Daddy. Mommy has been so upset all day." She whispers in my ear.
Marsha comes into the living room, having heard me. I look up at her and mouth "fuck you" to her.

Stars Came Crashing

Margaret wakes up every single day knowing something is horribly wrong with her life. Every morning she has to fight her urges to die. She lives with her guilt, with her loneliness. A single question runs through her mind every day: 'what if'?
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
8:15 AM
My alarm clock blares. I am startled awake by it . I roll over and bump into the body that belongs to my husband. He is an incredibly unattractive sleeper. He has his mouth hanging open and eyes half-way shut. Sometimes I hate having to wake up next to him, but nothing will change the fact that I have to wake up to him for the rest of my life.
I get out of the bed and walk across the floor. The carpet always tickles my feet. She always hated carpet….
8:25 AM
I am pulling up pants that I don't really want to wear. But, I have to look nice. She always said that looking nice was over-rated. She always had her hair in a mess and never matched her clothes.
"Good Morning, honey," my husband walks up behind me and kisses my cheek. I feel like vomiting.
"Morning." I say as I concentrate on finding the right top.
He sighs and leaves the closet. I can tell he was looking for something more from me. I can never give that to him… it already belongs to her.
And as I pull down a sweater over my head, I think of her.
We met on a Sunday, in a coffee-shop only a block from my dorm. God, I remember spilling a cup full of boiling coffee all over myself when I first saw her. She giggled and brought napkins over to me.
I am roused back to my day when I hear my husband cursing in the hallway. I go over to the dresser and I pull out a t-shirt that has been well-hidden. It is covered in atrocious coffee stains.
8:35 AM
Coffee is sitting in my mouth as I wait to swallow. I am filling in the crossword puzzle with a pen. She always made fun of me for that and would sometimes scribble out the crosswords so that I wouldn't ignore her in the morning. My husband is noisily eating the scrambled eggs I made him. I hate that he chews with his mouth open… I am continuing the puzzle, trying to ignore him.
"Clue 45. Laundry Detergent (5 Letters)."
My mouth immediately goes dry. My eyes immediately well up. It is our most precious memory. I run to our laundry room.
8:43 AM
I am sitting on the laundry room floor as I am weeping. I am holding a box of laundry soap in my arms. It is my last connection to her. It is all I have now.
We were in the Student Union. I was doing my laundry. She was flipping through a book of poetry. I watched her as she read a poem about the stars. She looked so content, just standing there. She didn't need a façade of wealth or normalcy. She was perfectly happy with this dank laundry room and a battered book of poetry. I got up from the ground and walked towards her. I kissed her like I always wanted to. I kissed her like I always should have. And we stood there, kissing. The smell of laundry soap in the air and the hum of washing machines in the background.
"What the hell are you doing?" My husband yells at me from the doorway. He looks utterly disturbed.
"Nothing," I say as I wipe tears from my face. I feel ashamed.
8:51 AM
My husband is leaving for work. He kisses me good-bye and slams the door behind him. I like the house so much more when he isn't in it. It is almost like the house I planned to buy for her. The only thing that was missing was her.
We were sprawled out across the floor, eating slices of pizza. I was studying for my Econ 240 exam. She was doodling on a piece of paper. Every so often I would glance up from my book to see what she was drawing. They were pictures of houses and families standing in front of them. She caught me looking once and blushed a little.
"You should be working on studying," she lightly scolded, not really meaning it.
"I was curious," I whispered as I kissed her cheek. "I like your drawings…"
"Thanks." She beamed. "It's us with our kids, in front of our house."
I looked more closely and I saw the stick figure version of me standing next to my beautiful stick figure wife. My stick figure children looked beautiful. The little girl had my nose… I almost cried it was so beautiful.
"I promise," I started, trying to be as sincere as possible," that in five years that we'll be there. I want to buy you a beautiful house and I want us to have a thousand kids. And I want you to read to them everyday. And I want to teach them how to play sports and everything else that we're supposed to do as parents!"
I was raving, which was making her giggle. I meant every word, though…
9:27 AM
I am sitting on the couch, reading through a worn book of poetry. It is quiet in this house, almost too quiet for me to tolerate. There are no children. I refused to have children with my husband. I won't have them unless they are her's. I finish the current page I am on and I delicately turn the page. The book is about to fall apart, because I have read it so much. It used to be her book. I come on the page I most love; it is even more worn than the rest of the book. The letters are barely visible now…
"Let me read you a poem," she whispered to me as I was about to fall asleep.
"Ok," I murmured, though I really hadn't heard what she had said.
"It's my favorite." She flipped to the page and began.
"When I see you, there is nothing but stars.
When I kiss you, these stars rupture in cataclysm.
To be with you, I shall be the astronaut.
That is the wonder of your love."
I remember falling asleep with a smile on my face that night.
9:45 AM

I wake up from the short nap I took. There is drool running down my chin and a metallic taste in my mouth. The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock. I can't find the poetry book anywhere. I am worried as I rip through the couch until I found it underneath a cushion. When I find it, I hold it in my arms as though it were a damaged child. It was the only thing she left me. I didn't deserve it; not after all of the shit I put her through.
11:22 AM
I am greedily eating a sandwich as I flip through channels. She had always said that television was over-rated. But, I let the cultural waste fill me eyes as the crumbs gathered on my shirt. I feel so meaningless sitting in this room. She always made me feel important, but she isn't here anymore. I can feel loneliness set in like a disease; I wish I were dead right about now.
I was sitting on a park bench at the end of town. I knew she wouldn't find me here. I could barely breathe anymore. I couldn't think straight. There was a horrible battle going on inside of me; I had a choice between her and my own personal world. Who did I love more? I felt dizzy and my throat was burning as vomit traveled up my esophagus. All I could do was sit on that bench. She wanted me to leave our small town for New York. She wanted us to go to a place where we could be accepted. She wanted everyone to know about our secret love. I was so afraid. So desperately afraid.
11:57 AM
I am washing the dishes. There is a sink-full that I should have taken care of days ago, but I am only just getting to them. I have the water as hot as it will go so that I can ensure the dishes will be as clean as possible. I reach my hand into the water and my skin is burning; in fact, I think my skin is screaming in pain. But, I pay no attention to it and I suds up all of the dishes. Time feels so slow, like it is melting around me in some sort of Dali fantasy.
"You don't want to come with me, then?" She screamed.
"I can't just leave everything. I have obligations…" I said, already becoming disgusted with myself.
"Just admit it, you were always ashamed. All of those times you said you loved me, you didn't really mean it."
I couldn't say a word; she had hit the nail on the head. I could only look down to the ground as I felt tears welling in my eyes. She threw her glass on the ground, causing a huge-
CRASH!
I am suddenly jarred back into reality as something falls to the ground and shatters. I look down to see that I had dropped a plate on the ground. There are pieces of glass everywhere. My hands are oozing red rivulets, running into the water like snakes. I curse under my breath as I began to pick the glass out of my fingers. It is painful, but I'm not fazed…
12:42 PM
I am putting an array of Band-Aids on my fingers. I look like I've given myself a manicure with a cheese grater. My nerves are practically shattered, so I walk into my bedroom and hunch next to my night-stand. The top drawer houses the item I am looking for. I pull out a well-worn pack of cigarettes that smell like the inside of a cedar chest. I pull on out very gingerly and light it. I crawl into the corner of my bedroom and inhale the smoke deeply. Tears run down my face.
She was moving out. It had been a testy week between us to say the least. She had all of her things stuffed into three trash bags. I sat on the front steps as she carried down each bag, nearly toppled over by the weight of it. Neither of us was looking at the other. I knew that I should be going with her, but I knew that I wouldn't.
She had finally put her last bag into the taxi out front. She came in one last time. I hadn't expected her to come and say good-bye. My heart lifted a little. Tears were pouring down her face as though buckets were behind her eyes. We didn't know what to say- what to do. We stood there for several minutes, just looking at each other. The taxi cab's horn honked impatiently and she suddenly looked away. She put her poetry book on the coffee table and walked out of the door.
I grabbed the book as I sobbed. I held the book, kissed its worn bindings.
1:32 PM
I hear the front door closing; my husband has come home. I wipe the tears off of my face as I get up from the corner. I hide all of my contraband back inside of my night-stand and go to greet him. He looks flustered from his day. He drops his briefcase on the ground and kicks off his shoes. I watch him with a mixture of contempt and sadness. He has stopped paying attention to me anymore. I don't think he even considers me his wife anymore. But, I know he is too scared to leave me. He sits on the couch and turns on the television. I sit next to him and we briefly acknowledge the other's presence.
I deserve the fate I have come to inherit. Lord knows I could have gone after her. I had the chance for happiness. Sometimes I read her poem, just to get me through the day. We were the stars, but the stars came crashing down…

Infatuation may not be love, but it is still pleasant.

Could it possibly be that we were never meant to be?

Shall it be destiny that we share is stolen glances?

Yet, I know that this is correct.

And my heart aches with its superficial wounds.

I may not have been cut very deep,

But I pretend I have been perilously sliced.

I don't regret what we didn't have.

You were a pleasant fantasy that gave me something.

What that something is, I'll never know.

I am unafraid of moving on.

Maybe I will find someone that can give me everything.

Or I will flit and fly around others,

Merely sampling but never committing.

Maybe I will see you in several years.

We will have both aged, I know.

And we will smile at each other.

But you will always stay ignorant.

Of course, I can only guess what will happen next,

But I will always appreciate your unknowing gift.

Poughkeepsie

Lana looked as though she were one of the most boring people in the world. She was tall, gaunt, and looked as though she were a librarian. Each of her delicate features were somewhat hardened by her generally stand-offish demeanor.
Her life was boring and foolish, and she sometimes regretted this fact. Though, she never did anything to change her circumstances.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
6:00 AM
I wake up because the sun is starting to shine in my eyes. I have no recollection of my dreams from the night before, but I am sure nothing important happened. I quickly slip on my robe as my feet grace the ice-cold floor. It's rough getting up this early, but I know I wouldn't have been able to stay in bed any longer. I look into the mirror and I see a person that looks so lost. There are lines that are starting to form along my eyes. I run my fingers along the lines and a snarl forms across my face. I can't believe I'm already this old.
6:15 AM
I can feel the water beating up against my back. I turn the shower a little hotter since I am shivering. I look down at my naked body and still feel shame despite me being all alone. I see spider veins beginning to trace up and down my thighs, making me look almost alien-esque. There is a softness growing around my stomach and I poke at it, feeling me finger sink into my skin. I stop looking at myself, definitely disgusted by what I see. I suppose this is what happens when you get older, though.
6:27 AM
I am pulling my sweater down over my head. It is a little worn around the edges and a little tighter than I would like, but it is familiar to me. I can feel my stomach cramping in hunger, and I rush to get ready. I walk out to the kitchen and stick a waffle in the toaster. I should probably be eating something healthier, but I am far too hungry for healthy. I make sure to put a large portion of syrup on the waffle and I eat in absolute silence.
7:24 AM
I am walking out to the garden to get some work done. I have it in my head that I will grow my own food and be so much more healthier. Yet, I already know that my plants are going to die and I am going to keep putting the same crap into my mouth. I kneel down in front of the tomato patch and begin picking the weeds away. Even though it is a brisk morning, I am already sweating from the labor. I take out all of my frustration on these weeds. I mutilate and massacre them. I am finally done and am thoroughly exhausted.
8:30 AM
I am getting into my car. I am almost to big for the tiny vehicle, as my head grazes the ceiling. I start up the engine and I can tell that it's going to die soon. Just another stress to add to my life. I pull out of the driveway and I look at my abnormally normal house. Perhaps there is nothing special about me…
8:57 AM
I am at the market and I am strolling through the harshly-lighted aisles, looking for my specific kind of shampoo. I realize that there are hundreds of other brands of shampoo, but I want mine. I browse through each section carefully, running my fingers across the various bottles. I am starting to get frustrated by the fact that I cannot find my brand. I do not want these other shampoos; they disgust me. I am not paying attention to where I am walking, consumed by my desire. I bump into something fairly soft. I look up and it is a person.
"Careful." The man admonishes as I stare at him blankly.
"I'm sorry," I murmur.
He is a fairly stocky gentleman, with thinning brown hair and strong eyebrows. His face is framed by thick glasses that look like they were made out of Coke bottles. He looks like he would naturally be a very jolly man, but he currently has a frown on his face. I find him oddly endearing, though he isn't particularly attractive.
"It's fine, just watch where you're going next time." He says in a quick, yet considerate manner.
He nods to me as he walks back down the aisle. I quickly forget why I am at the market in the first place.
9:13 AM
I am following this gentleman throughout the supermarket. I am not sure why I am doing this, but I am anxious to know this man better. He is the first person in a very long time that has so much as acknowledged my presence. I make it a little game as I follow him ever do discretely. I try to guess what item he is picking up from the shelves. I have a perfect score. I cannot believe how close I feel to this man. I think I am in love. I become more bold in my tailing of this gentleman. I make no pretenses about following him. I am like a lost puppy now.
9:18 AM
The gentleman finally stops his shopping and turns towards me. He walks up to me deliberately, in a manner most unbecoming.
"What the hell do you want, lady?" He is almost shaking in fury.
I shy away from him slightly, not wanting the object of my adoration to turn on me. I appreciate how close he is to me. For the briefest of moments I think about kissing him, but I don't want to cause any trouble.
"I-I-… I thought you looked interesting. I followed you around to get to know you better." I try to look flirtatious when doing this, but I know I am failing miserably.
He seems almost taken aback by this idea that someone finds him attractive. I can see the mixed emotions running across his face. He takes several steps away from me, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it. He turns away and continues with his shopping. I take this as permission to keep following him
9:21 AM
The gentleman is putting some strawberry jam into his shopping cart. I can tell that he has a sweet tooth by how much sugar-saturated food he buys. I am not sure whether or not he lives alone. He is purchasing quite a bit of food, but he could just be getting it to last him a while. He is very considerate when it comes to other people in the market. He always smiles at them and tries to give them as much leeway as he can. I admire him for this.
9:37 AM
The gentleman is heading to the checkout now. I am devastated. I had no idea that out affair would be so short-lived. I hoped to stay with him forever, watching him pick out his spices and crackers. But, he is unloading his groceries onto the conveyor belt and he seems rather anxious to be done. Maybe it was something that I did to make him this way. I desperately search my mind for some kind of reason he would leave me. While my mind is caught up in the raucous of my thoughts, I just stand there and stare blankly at him. I can tell he is deeply perturbed, but I do nothing other than stare.
"Listen, lady," he yells as he stomps his feet towards me," I have been more than patient with you. Leave me the fuck alone!"
I didn't know the gentleman was capable of such obscenity. I am fascinated by his use of the word, 'fuck'. He seems to be slightly afraid of me too. He yells at me, but in an apologetic tone that makes him shrink before me. I can only stare at him. His face is twisted up together as though his skin were play-dough. His eyes are squinted as if he were deep in thought. His brow is coated with sticky sweat. I have the urge to lick that sweat right off of his brow. I don't know if I can fight my urge anymore with him standing in front me and me staring right at him.
9:38 AM
"Lady?" The gentleman asks since I haven't so much as acknowledged him yet.
I can feel other people beginning to stare now. I can feel their fear forming. They think I am crazy. That is a laughable thing; I am perfectly sane. Yet, I am looked at as a dangerous beast. But I only stare at the gentleman, my savior from the world of loneliness.
"Are you ok?" He finally whispers, showing genuine concern on his face.
Suddenly, emotions come flooding through to me like a tidal wave. I am in such despair. Such joy. Such fear. Such desire. I am not sure what to do. I stare at the gentleman and I let tears flow down my face, unafraid of what the other shoppers say.
I imagine myself and the gentleman on the beach, naked and sipping out of the same cup. We are telling each other stories of our youth. We admit our deepest fears to each other and we are laughing. It is far more perfect than any other dream I have ever had. I refuse to leave this new world.
9:42 AM
I am being forced away from my love, my gentleman. A lone security guard is pulling at my arm, almost jerking it out of its socket. I refuse to look at this intruder. He is not worth my time. I continue to look at the gentleman; he is looking back at me in disgust and horror. I know that the other shoppers are frightened and unsure how to react to this situation. They needn't worry- I am not crazy. I am just in love. There is a difference, or- at least I think so.
9:45 AM
I am being dragged out through the automated doors. The sign above my head says 'Have a Nice Day'. I chuckle a little and I get even more dirty looks from my fellow shoppers. I should feel like a common criminal, but I am perfectly fine with this. They may have temporarily prevented me from being with my love, but they cannot stop me forever.
As I walk out onto the blacktop, I am told to never return to this market again. I look up at the sign of the market again, as if it were some benevolent being that brought me love.
POUGHKEEPSIE MARKET & DELI
OPEN 24/7
Thank you, Poughkeepsie. Thank you.

Rickety-Pickety Fence

Sue-Ann had lived in the same neighborhood her entire life. In fact, she had lived in the same home her entire life. She had lived with her mother until her mother died, and she kept the house as part of her inheritance. The house was in a state of severe disrepair. The paint was peeling off of the wall and nothing had been cleaned in several years. The only part of the house that was even half-way decent was a telescope in Sue-Ann's bedroom; it is pointed out the window and into the next door house.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
10:00 AM
I wake up to the sounds of a lawn-mower. It roars like a wild animal as it rips away at the grass. I can smell the dankness that has settled into the stitching of my blankets. I feel itchy because I haven't bathed in several days. I haven't had the motivation to get into the shower. I look out the window and see my neighbors.
I should mention how wonderful my neighbors are. They are really good people; you can tell just by looking at them. It's a perfectly normal family. There is Phil, Madeline, Casey, Baxter, and Eleanor. Phil and Madeline are the parents in this family. They've been married for the past twenty years and you can just tell how much they love each other. God, if someone could love me like Phil loves Madeline. Casey is their oldest daughter, she is almost finished with high school. She's smart, but a bit of rebel. If I could only have a daughter like her… Baxter is the middle child- a boy in middle school. He's just like Phil in every single way possible. If only Baxter were forty years older… Eleanor is the baby, quite literally. She looks even more like Madeline than I thought possible. All five of them are my saving grace. I would give my life for them in a minute. If only I could meet them one day…
10:15 AM
I am pulling off the clothes I have on, they are in desperate need of washing. I think of Madeline. She always has such beautiful clothes. I never see her in the same outfit, and- believe me- I keep track of them. I especially love it when she wears blue. Oh, she looks so gorgeous in blue. Like an angel.
I look at my pile of clothes. They are disgusting and I'm sure Madeline would never touch them. However, they are good enough for me. I do not deserve wonderful things like Madeline. So, I put on a t-shirt that is one of my favorites and I find a pair of jeans that have the least amount of dirt on them. They are getting tight on me, but I have no intention of buying any new clothes.
I walk out to my kitchen and look inside of the refrigerator. I think of Phil. He is a head chef at a restaurant in town. I watch him cook breakfast for the kids. Fridays are always "Happy-Face-Pancake" days. I have never had pancakes that were made to look like human faces. I bet the food he makes tastes wonderful. I can only imagine…
I look back into the refrigerator and see nothing but spoiled milk and a tub of butter. I close the door and convince myself that I am actually not very hungry. Yet, my stomach grumbles nonetheless.
10:30 AM
It is almost time for the family to go out and play in the yard. They do this every weekend. I never had that when I was a little kid, but I can live vicariously through Casey, Baxter, and Eleanor. Phil comes out first and it looks like he has made smoothies for the family. He is so considerate… I wish he were mine. Madeline comes out next with Eleanor in her arms. Madeline is wearing a beautiful blue sundress. I yearn for her. I want to run my fingers across the soft material of her dress. Eleanor is smiling and happy. Casey and Baxter come out together and they are getting ready to play soccer. They are both so talented.
Madeline sets Eleanor on the ground to play in the grass. She kisses Phil on the cheek as they cuddle on the porch swing. I close my eyes and pretend I am sitting between them and that they are the ones loving me. That Madeline is really kissing my cheek and that Phil is really holding my hand. I can almost feel their gentle touches. Almost.
10:45 AM
I decide to go get the paper. Sometimes Casey is in the paper for her various achievements at school. The last time she was in it, it was for winning a scholarship. I was so proud of her…
I am at the curb, bending down to pick up my paper, when I hear someone coming up. I look up and it's Madeline. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! I am so scared and I don’t know what to do. I just stay on the ground as she approaches the curb to get her own paper. I pray she doesn't see me.
Shit! She sees me. She looks at me inquiringly and smiles in my direction before walking away. Did that really just happen? She acknowledged me! She looked at me and smiled at me. For the first time in my life, I feel complete.
I run into my house and I sit down on the dirty floor. I try to re-live the moment as many times as possible. I think her smile is burned right into my skull. I cannot stop the smile etched into my face. I grab the mirror closest to me and I try to emulate Madeline's smile. I can't. I am not pretty enough to match her smile, but I still have her symbol of love in my mind.
"Madeline, Madeline, Madeline, Madeline…" I repeat her name over and over again, out loud, like a magical chant. Perhaps, if I say her name enough, she will come to me and stay forever.
11:52 AM
My voice is too hoarse for me to say another word. My throat feels like someone set it on fire. I finally get up off of the floor and go back to my window. The family has gone back inside, to get ready for lunch. I see Madeline, my darling, standing at the kitchen counter, making sandwiches. Phil is in the living room, probably checking his e-mails. I suddenly feel angry at Phil… Why should Madeline be slaving away in the kitchen while Phil gets to sit on his lazy ass? Phil is a jerk to Madeline. I fucking hate Phil. I hate every goddamn fucking thing about him. That prick!
12:04 PM
The family is in the kitchen, sitting down at the small table in the room. The asshole is sitting next to my beloved, acting like he did so much to help. Pretentious prick. The children are being noisy now. God, I can hear them all the way over here. Casey and Baxter are arguing, not even paying respect to their mother for making such a wonderful meal. They are bitching and moaning, squabbling right in front of her- right at the dinner table. I am so angry, so upset. I want to kick their fucking faces in. And, Phil is doing nothing to stop it. I'll kick his face in too. Eleanor is crying and whining. She's a bitch too. I can barely take anymore, so I have to look away. I can't stand that my beloved is being subjected to such torture. I want to go and save her. She would be safe and happy here…
1:27 PM
I am finally able to breathe again. I look out the window again, afraid of what I might see. Phil, the asshole, is sitting in front of the television with the little monsters. They are fucking nimrods for sitting in front of that mind-sucking box. I look in the upstairs window and see Madeline reading from a book and sipping from a glass. Everything she does is so wonderful. Absolutely everything. The way she reads is mesmerizing to say the least. She runs her fingers down the pages as her eyes glide over each letter. She is so expressive when she reads, smiling or frowning when appropriate. I bet she is reading some amazing book that I will never know how to read. I wish I were the book in her hand. She could read every single page of me. People have always said that I am an open book…
3:15 PM
The monsters downstairs have finished their television viewing. I hope their minds seep out of their fucking heads. They are looking for Madeline. Phil goes to look for her. He goes to the upstairs window and he finds her there, reading away. For some reason, he is angry as hell. He has a look on his face that looks as if he is ready to kill. I am absolutely horrified. How dare he look at her like that?! He begins scolding her like she is a child. He isn't addressing her like the lady she is. I want to kill him. She is trying to assuage him. She looks like she is speaking the kindest words imaginable. I feel my heart flutter with each syllable I watch fall from her lips. She would never hurt a fly.
They hug and they kiss now. I am jealous beyond all belief. He doesn't deserve it, Madeline. Don't give him your love! Yet, she allows him to take it. God, I am disgusted by what I see. I can only describe it as rape.
3:45 PM
The family is reunited again as both Madeline and Phil come down the stairs. They are all happy once again. If only Madeline didn't have the burden of this horrible family. She could be with me forever, then. I would treat her like a goddess.
They seem to be planning something wonderful. Phil looks excited and the children are smiling. I see them all heading towards the garage. I am worried now… I hope to God that Madeline isn't leaving, but I see her get into the car as well. She seems to be happy too, but I know she is hiding the depression that lives inside of her because of her horrible family. They pull out of the driveway and drive down the street. I am scared that Madeline is out of my sight. But, their house is now empty…
3:54 PM
I am walking to my neighbor's house. It is only the briefest of strolls, but my pace is interceded by the most horrible of objects: a white picket fence. I know Madeline's taste, and this fence is not her. This fence is her oppression, her separation. I look around the neighborhood and I see no one else around. I want to free you, Madeline. I know what I must do…
3:57 PM
I am pulling up the picket fence one stake at a time. I am ripping it out of the ground with my bare hands. I can feel my muscles pulling apart and my finger-nails falling off like leaves in the fall. My hands are a bloody mess. I am in so much pain. But, it is all for Madeline. We must suffer for what we love. I will not rest until my Madeline is not caged like a bird. I will tear apart this rickety-pickety fence; this Americana prison that traps my beloved in hell.
4:27 PM
I have ripped out the final stake. The fence is now rubble on the ground. I am laughing hysterically. I may be in the most pain I have ever experienced in my life, but I am so happy. I look over to my neighbor's house. I forgot how beautiful it was. I walk to the front door. The mahogany door that separates me from the inside has a brass knocker attached to it. I run my blood-covered fingers over the cool metal.
I know where the spare key is hidden- right under the mat. I pick it up and gently insert it into the door handle. I take care not to do anything rough to the home; it is a sanctuary. The inside of the home is even more wonderful than I previously imagined. The interior, all decorated by Madeline, is exquisite. It is almost too beautiful for me to even look at. The air smells like citrus and flowers, and not in the way where you can tell that they use spray-can perfumes.
4:35 PM
I am in Phil's recreation room. I can see all of his interests laid out before me. There are old action figures collecting dust, comic books still in their plastic casings, and his hunting equipment. I look at the various knives and guns he has for his hobby. There are long-barreled shot-guns and small pistols. I place my hand on each of the weapons, finally resting on a silvery pistol. It looks dangerous. I pick it up in my hands and it is heavier than I expected; I almost drop it on the ground. It was as if fate were calling my name. I wrapped my finger around the trigger. I will need this later. I must save her.
4:37 PM
I am sitting on the bed, in the same place where she sleeps. I stick my face onto the pillow and I breathe in deeply. It smells like fancy lavender shampoo. I wish I could breathe in this smell for the rest of my life. But, I finally grow too curious and move on. I see her closet and my heart jumps a little. I open the door and immediately I see the beautiful blue sundress. I almost rip it in half as I get my greedy hands on the material. It is silk. It is perhaps the softest and finest piece of cloth I have ever touched. I decide that I should wear the dress. Just to be that much closer to Madeline. I force it onto my heftier frame and the seams are starting to rip. This same fabric that is hugging my body once hugged Madeline's body.
4:41 PM
This is by far the most glorious room in the house. It is Madeline's study. There are books everywhere, and it is magical. I look at each of the titles and they are all great works of literature. I pull out a particularly well-thumbed-through book and hold it in my hands. It's title is, "The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway. Even the titles of the books that she reads are beautiful. This is the room where I want to stay. For the rest of my life.
I continue to explore this sacred place. I walk up to a bureau cabinet that looks promising. It is made of luxurious cherry wood that makes the room even more studious. I open the doors to the bureau.
I AM NOTHING! I AM NOTHING! I AM NOTHING! I AM FUCKING NOTHING!
A menagerie of empty whiskey bottles fall out onto the floor, each crashing and spreading out tiny shards of glass. They are all her bottles. Every one of them. She drank each drop. She hid them away like this. She is nothing. She is just as bad as me. She is not important. I am nothing. I thought she was important, but she isn't. I am worthless for loving her. She is a wicked witch for making me love her.
I AM NOTHING! I AM NOTHING! I AM WASTED!
The fury builds within me so quickly that the only thing I am able to do is trash the room. I rip books off of bookshelves. I take the Ernest Hemingway and I shred the pages until they look like confetti. I push the bureau until it crashes to the ground. I grab the gun and hold it in my hands. It is the only thing I worship now. I stand in the study. I wait.
5:14 PM
A scream emits from Madeline's mouth as she finds me standing in her study. She looks beyond terrified. Phil runs to help her and he is just as startled. I hear him yell at the kids to go to the neighbors and call the cops. I stand there and look at them. I judge them. They are unholy. They have made me unholy.
"Both of you!" I finally scream. They both jump at the sound of me voice. "How could you deceive me like this?!"
They both stare blankly, fear in their eyes. I stand there, snarling. I have been holding the gun so tightly that it feels fused to my bone. I pull it up and point it at them. But, something stops me. I try to fight against this unknown force. So, the gun ends up where it probably was always meant to go- where it should have gone the whole time. I pull the trigger.

Mine eyes happen upon thine eyes.

Thou art quite the tempest.

Thine eyes play the part of deceit.

Thine lips ensnare my senses as though it t'were some tonic.

Whenceforth hast thou come?

Methinks thou art a devil, sent to mine world as punishment.

Methinks thou art an angel, sent to mine world as rewards.

Or, art thou some place betwixt these two homes?

Thou willst causeth me to close mine eyes forevermore.

I durst trow that I will be with thee until there be nothing more of me.

I prithee thou willst tarry with me.

I shalt name each of those heavenly bodies up above for thou.

Whither thou goest, I shall go.

She gives herself to Robert Frost and hopes for the best.

The haphazardly hidden sobs permeate through the crepe paper walls. It is a secret that has been passed on like some kind of contagion. Everyone knows, but they prefer to perpetuate the fallacy of oblivion. Yet, the is no utility to acknowledgement anyways, for the line has already been crossed. So, the only thing to do is to play witness. And, as emotions ebb and flow like passing winds, the world continues. It is unfortunate to be the moot point of the world, to be desperate to be made whole by anything. Yet, we all find our ways to pull through. Though they may not be the ways we desired, they nonetheless bring us home. Perhaps, that is all we can hope for, to find something that is almost good. So, gentle resignation shall become a destiny like no other. One day, the ambivalent cries will cease, but they will never be fully cured. Robert Frost was right about the road less traveled; there is always a bitter irony to it.

To sorrow and to tomorrow- they are the dear friends of partition.

There is something almost cathartic about parting, if even for the slightest of moments. The pent up emotions we all hold inside of us are finally released, like steam bursting forth from a tea kettle. For the slightest of moments we may be afraid that this distance forged between us may be too much. For the slightest of moments we aren't sure what to do about leaving, other than to try and be sentimental. And, as we awkwardly hug each other good-bye, we make promises. So continues the folly of youth, but it is nonetheless appreciated by both parties. The times we have shared together suddenly rush through our respective minds and sundry bittersweet chuckles fill the air. Finally, it is time for one of us to go. It is an ordinary moment as we watch her leave. It is time for us to go back to a life that is oft forgotten during this current journey in our lives. We must return to that paradigm that is young adult-hood; caught in between the limitations of youth and the responsibilities of the real world. And, so, as each of us leaves this place, a peculiar longing wells within us. We don't necessarily wish to stay, but going leaves a strange taste in our mouths. Yet, we keep driving away until there is nothing but traffic in our rear-view mirrors.

Allow me to introduce myself...

I feel as though I have never really introduce myself on here, so I thought I might give you guys a little more information about myslef.

• My favorite food is strawberries. I love them in anything, especially with whipped cream.
• I have a huge girl-crush on Helena Bonham Carter.
• I have three tattoos, and they are probably some of my favorite physical traits.
• I like to think I am smart, but I probably just have an over-inflated ego.
• My favorite kind of milk is 2% milk. I also really love chocolate milk.
• I love the smell of the laundry detergent aisle in the grocery store.
• I am secretly an old woman on the inside; this is why my nickname is, 'Grandma.'
• My favorite animals include: elephants, foxes, and bumblebees.
• I am falsely crafty. I claim to do a lot of crafts, but I never finish them.
• I love to take internet quizzes, the sillier the better.
• Sometimes I wonder if I was a gay man in a past life...
• I own over 20 versions of 'La Vie En Rose' and the are all on my Ipod.
• I collect books and am a voracious reader.
• My most precious piece of jewelry is a golden eagle necklace my great-grandfather gave me.
• I am of French-Canadian and Irish ancestry... In other words, I am very pale.
• I aspire to be more of a hippie, but I don't think I ever will be.
• I have a slight fear of things hitting my face.
• I like to try on different personalities every once in a while.
• I really don't like to wear clothes, especially during the summer.
• I am a vegetarian that has a lot of meat cravings.
• I like to look at coins and see the dates they were made.

I think that is a start...

The most unassuming answers have the most intrinsic depth.

I. What is the strongest thing you can conceive of doing with your life?

The one thing I have always conceived is to do nothing more than one thing: love. No matter where my life takes me, no matter what my future circumstances may be, I want to have an amorous spirit in my heart. I want to wake up each and every morning knowing that there are people in this world that I truly care for, and I flatter myself by thinking that there could possibly people that care for me. I think it is the greatest thing to with your life- to love, that is. A love of books, a love of nature, a love of music, and a love of people. These are the only things I need to accomplish with my life to know that I have made a worthwhile impact upon the world.

II. What is Freedom For? What is the best thing you can do with it?

Freedom is for the pursuit of the unknown. Or, perhaps, freedom is a fallacy that we all become complacent about in our adult years. I think that freedom is an abstract, far too emotional to be put into the format of utility. However, that being said, freedom is something that can be used to change the world. And that is, in my opinion, the best thing you can do with it. Freedom makes us aspire to greater things, pushing us beyond the falsely humble constraints of society. So, if we can believe in freedom the abstract, perhaps we can believe in freedom the reality.

III. What are the elements that define Adulthood?

Adulthood is a silly and illogical term designed by society to turn us all into deluded carbon copies. Being an adult means being: chillingly rational, unemotional, serious ad nauseum, and unhappy. Society makes us assume the roles we were inherently bred to become. We take our jobs, fall in line, and don't make a peep so that we seem normal. Yet, on the inside, are we truly living? Are we lying to ourselves when we are sitting inside of our pre-fab houses, listening to the news of the day but feeling strangely detached from the rest of the world? We say we are happy with our things, our connections, our lifestyle; but each minute the true soul within us dies a little. Adulthood means losing ourselves to the menacing, yet falsely charismatic figure that is the Jonses. I would rather be a child forever.

IV. What Strengths Are You Bringing into World As an Adult?

As I said, I will never truly be an adult. However, I feel I will bring into this world a sense of naive happiness that has long been forgotten in the world of responsibility. I don't have to be unhappy to be happy (unhappy meaning a sense of ennui). I require the true joys in life and nothing more. Perhaps I am self-righteous, but I can only pity the current state of the adult world. I just have the desire to be happy and to love; this is my greatest strength.

V. What are your Challenges?

I am challenged by my inherent nature to be accepted and to be loved. Just like every other human being, I want to know that I am not the only one that cares about myself. It is obvious to see how this would come in conflict with my personal philosophy that the status quo is unacceptable. People that are abnormal are pariahs in this world, and I will probably become one of them. But, I will always want to be accepted because I am naturally insecure. Will I be able to be unafraid about who I am? Or will I compromise and chose acceptance?

VI. What do you most love to do in all the world?

The one thing I love most in this world, other than people (because that answer is far too cliche'), is the written word. Every time I write a paper, or a note, or a blog, I am amazed at the things that are being formed upon the paper. To be able to express my ideas is so mind-boggling, even though I have been able to write for the past fourteen years. And, to read... Oh, what a glorious thing! To see words (truly abstract figures strung together in sequence) illuminating great thoughts is almost like seeing the face of God. So, my love affair for the written word continues; born from deep admiration and transformed by literature.

VII. What is your Deep Gladness? Where Does it Meet the World’s Deep Need?

My deep gladness is having affection for other people, and I have always felt that, 'What the world needs now is love, sweet love.' I think that love can completely change a person's life, whether that love be platonic, romantic, or otherwise. If we could all experience the tender touch of a person that held us dear, I think there would be a bit more romanticism to the world. By romanticism, I mean a sense of idealized brotherhood. I'm not saying that caring for another individual will result in the "I'd like to buy the world a Coke" commercials, but I think it's a start. So, I might be useful in the world after all.

Will you be my train of thought?

If I had the answers, that would be something.

But, I don't even have the questions.

I am quite content to remain ignorant, though.

The questions and answers only serve to distract us,

From the things and people we truly love.

Like sunny days in the middle of winter,

They tantalize us with their bittersweet fallacies.

Perhaps logic is just a tease.

Flirtatious, but full of empty promises.

I've never been one for surliness.

Give me something that will be mine,

Not constantly evade my grasp.

This is why intellectualism is not for me.

I require much more commitment from my partners.

Maybe, one day, in this endless dating game that is academia,

I will marry and live happily ever after.

A girl can dream, you know.

An ode to the kisses that go unreturned.

I kissed the gentle cheek
As though I belonged there

I knew I didn't
But my soul told me otherwise

Oh, to be so inwardly conflicted
It is the most bitter torture

I could feel my heart move up
And my brain creep down

The battle had begun
Inside of me

My lips were already firmly planted
Before the fight was even decided

It was as though both my heart and my brain
Were in a state of shock

I edged away as awkwardness filled the air
Like a static cling that pollutes the room

The face staring back at me
Seemed just as unsure as myself

Then a brief moment
Of pure human emotion

The face turned away and left
I'm not sure if I will ever see that face again

Despite the shame
I laughed as though a joke were just told

It was not the Hollywood ending
It was an ending befitting a twelve year-old girl

For the Bible tells me so...

If a book told me that someone loves me
Should I believe them?

If an institution told me that I loved someone
Should I believe it?

I was told from a young age
That he loved me

I knew not why this person loved me
Just that he did

I was unsure about this relationship
How could it ever work if I never met him?

Where was this mystery man?
Did he ever think about me?

I never had the pleasure of meeting him
Though I thought about him often

Then, like a wilting flower
I lost interest

Oh, how I was loathed for my fickleness
But I could not commit

I never felt his hand in my own
I never heard his voice speak my name

My heart felt no longing for this man
I could not long for something that did not exist

I still hear about this man
He still does love me

Maybe one day we will meet
In a train station or on the street

Until then I say, "be well, fair gentleman"
For I do want you to know that I care

The beatnik generation is the model for being a college student.

With the world all in a tizzy,

Try to not get dizzy,

She breathes her lover's sighs,

Ignoring ambivalent cries,

If I've lost you in the mess,

I suppose it's all for the best,

But while their eyes are pried away,

Perhaps you could stay, just stay.

My wisdom comes from my heart,

My heart belongs to you,

You've made me part of the mindless generation,

It feels so good,

With everything as it should.

Cups of coffee and nothing new.

We think we are rebels,

Intelligent beyond our years,

But we haven't even conquered our childhood fears,

We'll take the ignorance with a grain of salt,

Misbehaving for the sake of being caught,

In twenty years we'll sit and laugh,

Though I don't know if we'll last 'til tomorrow,

I guess we'll both be surprised,

Pleasantly or otherwise.

And if I tried to brush it off,

I didn't really mean it,

Caught toeing the line,

Between matured cynicism and childhood dreams,

With each breath we take,

Impatiently hovering in our lungs.

We fancy ourselves to be innovators,

Yet we're jaded and hypocritical,

One day we'll figure it out,

But one day always eludes us,

It's as if we're searching for nothing,

Just trying to not be lonely,

Yet it sinks in,

We're just dreaming,

If there were a thousand ways to die,

We've pictured them all inside our minds,

And still I'll let it go,

Because time will only tell me no.

So fleeting.

So empty.

Fulfilling.

They hit the ceiling.

We give up.

We break down.

We'll wear those frowns.

Let's have hope.

And dream big.

You'll learn your lesson, kid.

Fate is an even-tempered mistress and her lover's sighs illuminate the world.

If I had a million words at my disposal, I wouldn't be able to tell you how I feel. If I had a lifetime of heart-beats, the pounding in my chest would be only for you. If I was blessed with a lifetime of vision, my eyes would only turn towards you. You are something quite unexpected, much like rain on a sunny day. I found you in a place where I dare not venture for amorous encounters, but you were there nonetheless. It was quite fortuitous that you and I are even at this point; a happenstance that we were even placed together at all. With this in mind, I now find fate to be my most trusted friend. Now, our stolen glances, hidden from the rest of the world, are like a tonic for my soul. The world is unaware, but it no longer matters- you are mine. The serendipity of it is something that gives me hope for the future; because the hands of time seem to hold me like a child. So, I take our love with the knowledge that I we are purely an accident, but a happy accident nonetheless.

If I were a trained medical professional, this diagnosis would be all wrong...

My feet are tired, but I will still walk if only to spend one moment with you.

My eyes are strained, but they will remain unblinking if only to catch a glimpse of you.

My mouth is dry, but I will continue to talk for hope that you will be listening.

My lungs are empty, but I will always wait in bated breath for you.

My hands are shaking, but I will still hold them out for you to grasp on to.

My heart is pounding, but I know it is because I am in your presence.

My ailments are far too numerous to delineate, but I know you can commiserate with me. Perhaps we are each other's cure... How ironic that the cause and the cure are one and the same... If only the wretched, yet blessed, symptoms would go away.

I suppose my steely wit is often lost on my blind optimism.

She laughs like she understands the subtle irony of the situation, but she really has no clue. She dances like she has enough rhythm to be considered Ginger Rogers, but she owns two left feet. She sings like she is the star of a Broadway production, but she can't carry a note. Despite her short-comings, she has an unstoppable faith in herself. She isn't afraid to be the one who makes the mistake, but she always tries to make things work. She is enigmatic, yet somehow the most accessible person in the world. She is slow to talk, yet always has the best things to say. She looks a person straight in the eyes, yet is demure enough to blush when she does it. Perhaps it is in her nature to be blatantly indescribable; she aims to be the word that it always on the tip of your tongue. She is the daughter of Mona Lisa and Walt Whitman. She is sister to Mother Earth and the Muses. She is the girl that is wonderfully naive and woefully wise. She is all of us, yet still her own person. She is we; she is free; she is you; she is me.

A word is like a bucket; empty until you put something into it.

What if there were no words to describe how I feel about you? What if the word "love" were to lose its strength as a word? This paradigm troubles me every moment of my life. I can only hope that they will one day invent an even stronger word. I will wait with baited breath...

"I love you," will have to do for now.

"Ana Behibak"

"Obicham Te"

"Tora Dust Midaram"

"Je T'aime"

"S'Agapo"

"Te Amo"

"Te Iu Besc"

"Ja Tebe Kokhaju"

"Rwy'n Dy Garu Di"

Theology tends to elude me, but I feel confident in my career as a theologian.

The say that, "to love another person is to see the face of God." This saying is one of the greatest realities I can think of. To look into the eyes of someone you love is to finally feel comfortable and safe in this world. We go through our lives unsure and scared until that one moment that we have prayed for. The world can be a terrifying place; full of lies, horrors, and loneliness, yet it needn't be. Our salvation from society rests in that one human being that makes us whole. Of course, we must all brave treacherous waters for what we desire. There will be times of great darkness for all of us; tear will be and shed and hears will be seemingly shattered. But it is also true that that one moment is worth all of the pain and suffering we must endure. Yet, we shouldn't fear the heart-ache ahead or behind us, because it is there to build us and give us hope. We should listen to our heart-beats, whether they be joyful or morose, and know that, somewhere, there is another heart beating just for us.

So- What is grace? What is faith? What is salvation? It is nothing more than a fleeting glance between two helpless souls. Perhaps it is foolish of me to think so much of one glance, but it is also foolish to underestimate the great mysteries in life. It may be simplistic, but it is true and absolute. Je t'aime.

Maybe I am naive, but I have never felt so wise

Of course I am upset; I had a truly awful day. Everything that could have gone wrong did. It is unfair that I had to go through such a bad day....

...Now I am laughing like a lunatic...

...How could I have been so blind? I had a wonderful day. So what if my alarm clock woke me up early? I still work up in a warm bed of my own. So what if I fought with my friend? I have a friend to begin with. So what if I had a lot of homework? I am able to get an education. Suddenly, my tension melts away with each breath I take. I am filled with a contentment that may only come with acceptance. I will accept all of the bad, because, without it, good cannot exist.

Talent is quite the fickle attribute...

There is nothing more wonderful than a sunny day. I love the way each sunbeam caresses my face with a familiarity that almost strikes me by surprise. I love the way silent breezes play with strands of my hair, curling and twisting my hair even more. I now completely understand the naturalistic musings of the great romantic poets; Walt Whitman is now a kindred spirit. His words now race through me as if they had replaced my own blood. And, now, I am suddenly inspired to write poetry; I can already feel the awkward rhyme schemes forming in my head. I then realize that I cannot write poetry.

So, I think of acoustic guitars and soft-playing pianos delicately accenting this beautiful day. Each crescendo starts to coordinate with my inhaling; each staccato note seems to punctuate my heart-beat. I am suddenly inspired to sing along to the sounds of nature; I open my mouth and let each note ring proudly. I then realize that I can't carry a note.

So, I switch my thoughts to ballet. I think of how a prima ballerina could describe this moment perfectly with a flick of the wrist. I lift my arms towards the sun, hoping to connect with nature, and I trip. I have no balance. For the moment, I am crestfallen. How will I re-live this moment in the future? And, then, realization came barreling down upon me. I shouldn't focus so much on the future when there is so much in the present.

Perhaps I don't know everything, but I do know that I love you.

What do you find beautiful about me? Is it my eyes? I know that you enjoy looking into them. Is it my personality? I know that you enjoy being near me. I am at a loss. I want to know why you choose to waste your precious time with me. However, I do know that you are well worth my time. And I also know that you are, quite possibly, the most wonderful person I have ever met. You make me smile constantly and fearlessly. You hold my hand and I suddenly realize how much my heart can flutter. You treat me like a lady and it takes my breath away every time. I can't imagine what makes you love me so. To be perfectly honest, I don't care anymore. All I care about is your hand always be there for me to hold and your eyes always being there for me to look into. Maybe I don't deserve you, but you love me regardless.

Put me in a clock-store so I can see the miracle of time.

Have you ever noticed the great simplicity of it all? The fact is that our everyday lives continue ever so effortlessly along the stream of time without any help. It is rather odd to think if this master guiding force controlling the world. No matter what I do, the second-hand will continue its endless march. Yet, I am unafraid of the imminent. I am not sure if my next second will be my last, but I am anxious to see what it will bring. In this next second I could meet the person I will spend the rest of my life with. In this next second my entire life could change. Each time I look at the clock, I wonder. I wonder not because I am afraid, but I because I am hopeful. So, Father Time, continue without hesitation.

Maps are for those who wish to know where they are going...

Let me dip my feet into that murky creek behind your house. The waters look like the perfect temperature. This place is idyllic and I wish to stay here, experiencing everything it has to offer. You laugh at my child-like insistence to wade, but you still relent. So here we are, traipsing through the water, trying not to slip on the slick rocks. The water is a little colder than I thought it would be, but it still feels like perfection against my sunburned skin. I try to imagine things that could be more perfect, but I can't. We continue to follow the current, aimlessly guided by Mother Nature. You slip on a rock and you curse for several minutes; I laugh harder than I had expected and my stomach soon feels sore. But, I appreciate the pain, since it came from something nice. I am still unsure of where we are headed, but I feel confident that we are headed somewhere wonderful.

Insults are always a favorite of mine

You pity me. You mock me. I am a simpleton in your eyes; much more naive than my eighteen years attest to. I am a child to you, unable to understand the world for what it is. You are the cynic. You think you know the world so well, that you are so wise just because you see how awful the world can be. I ask you this: what is so wrong with optimism? Just because you have depression and a sense of superiority, you aren't right. Do you not see those pure moments of humanity? Do you not see smiles on young children's faces? Perhaps you are so wrapped up in your self-loathing that you miss it. But I see these things and I know that there is a wonderful place for us all if we just open our eyes. The world doesn't have to be so bleak. The human race doesn't have to be so evil. Go ahead, call me foolish; I will take it as a compliment.

The greatest truth of all is you and me.

We sit in church, worshipping our lives away to protect our souls from the dreaded unknown of the after-life. What rests in eternal salvation? If we pray every night, can we be confident in our ascension? If we believe with every fiber of our being, can we have faith in an everlasting life? As I sit in this finite existence, I realize the great truth: that love is man's only redemption. In the end, no on reflects on how many Sundays you devoted to a church. No, they will think of your heart. Our lives are not measured by what we devote ourselves to, but to whom. The life that continues past our own is seen in the moments we have shared. So, we must love while we can; give your heart without fear. The emotional pain we may experience is well worth the blessings of reciprocation. I will love with everything I have whether my future be treacherous or smooth-paved. I have been saved forevermore by three simple words: I love you.