"We're not the same, dear, as we used to be.
The seasons have changed and so have we."

"You're not the same."
"What do you mean? I am exactly the same."
"No. No, you're not. You're completely different."
"How so?"
"I can't describe it, really. You're just a different person."
"A different person all together?"
"No, no. You still curtsy and you still swear like a sailor.
But everything else is different."
"I feel exactly the same."
"Do you?"
"Well, now I don't know."

Within the past 48 hours, summer has peacefully bowed out,

leaving a torrential storm of newly painted leaves and
the promise of an autumn breeze in her quiet path of departure.
This time was different.
I was sad to see her go; she left without waking me.
It was just before midnight.
The only sign of her stealthy exit
was a gray and humid kiss upon my cheek.
This time will be different.

He was on the phone, settled into the arms of an orange chair,
speaking of times and dates that have yet to reveal themselves.
Lying on my stomach, sprawled across his bed wearing only
my undergarments, I began to scrawl mismatched words,
molding them into aimless sentences.
We were separate; engaged within ourselves,
tending to the delicate nature of our separate lives.
We were unified in our comfort.
This is what it feels like to be whole.
This is what life could be like.
We are trying to change;
Digging through the premature rubble, almost nightly,
hoping to find the fragments of what
we were before things threatened to crumble.
That singular moment of wholeness
reconfirmed how it is I want to feel.

Just recently have I become aware of
how little I should trust people.
I am blatantly disobeying the way I've
always known by biting my tongue and holding back.
To be quite honest, I've become rather smug.
Saying nice things with a smirk and a contrived glint in my eye.
In my quest in trying with all my might
to avoid becoming like them, the best parts of myself
seem to melt away, leaving only the ugliest parts of human nature.
This, of course, is a harsh assessment of my current
character, but it in no way desensitizes my fear
in replicating anyone but myself.

I am thoroughly convinced that everything we have (or don't have),

everyone we know (or have yet to meet) and everything we are
(or will become), can be attributed to a solitary, inconsequential
ten minute moment. And, of course, each moment can be traced
back to another moment, so much so that I will gladly argue
that we can all go back to the very beginning, if we so chose.
I am currently engulfed in dark, silence bounding through my mind,
turning the pages, eagerly searching for where this moment began.

Summer had just bloomed, exploiting every color in bursts of sunshine. I sat perched on a lawn chair, a blushing technicolor drink in one hand, the other holding a pink parasol over my head, my legs crossed and glistening from a fresh coat of sunscreen; it was during this rare moment of self assurance that he sat next to me.

That's how this moment was born.




(photo by: christianog.com)

"The longer you think,
the less you know what
to do"

It's such a horrible way to be faced with a realization,
but it seems to be relatively standard when it comes to love.
It isn't until you're threatened with losing someone,
that you can properly understand how much you love them.

I responded to each "Why?" with "I don't know",
digging my face so far into my palms that my self induced
darkness has become a comfort.
He stormed off, I grabbed my keys.
I prefaced these actions by confessing my tendency
to wave my white flag without reason.
Our distance grew and grew
until the space became immeasurable
and our silence allowed us to start again.

I am lucky enough to have pinpointed this very moment
and I now know what I want to keep.


We both wore black tights. We were the only ones.
Even from across the room, I could see that each of our
breaths were labored and our chests
rose and fell in a synchronous pattern.
We were momentarily unified by all the things we did not know.
Her voice was more delicate and sincere than I had imagined it to be;
her posture and demeanor, however, were accurate depictions
of the fiction I had created.
This encounter fueled countless conversations
of doubt and insecurity. But he and I survived.
It seems like we are always escaping inevitability
by a frayed thread of misunderstanding.

Emergency rooms, despite their population,
can make you think about the things you
told yourself you would never think about.
Although I was not a patient, I convinced myself
that I was in fact dying. I have no real evidence
as to why this might be even close to truth.
I can't feel safe in a place where reflections don't exist.

My entire life my inadequacies have been adequate.
It is the most painful, yet loving feeling to be pushed
beyond what has always been expected of me
by someone who loves me more than I do.

While driving home at 4am, staggering under the posted speed limit, I hummed in a desperate attempt to stay awake. With equal desperation, I tried to leave an emotionally challenging 24 hours behind me, forcing it to fade into the ever growing dusk of a new day. While approaching a familiar intersection, I saw movement to my left. As I stopped the car and paused my humming, 3 deer darted through my headlights. They bounded with a dreamlike inelegance across a stretch of road usually bustling with traffic, now desolate, to an forgiving patch of land behind a strip mall. Even after they had left my field of vision, I couldn't bring myself to release my foot from the break. I couldn't help but see hidden parts of myself through this one, seemingly insignificant encounter. Certainly my fears could not measure up against those that must surely belong to the deer. But like my four legged refugees, I startle easily, overcoming each struggle with a swift dash far from its origin. I eventually trekked forward, rhythmic yawns replaced my out of tune humming, my eyes blurred with exhaustion and by some miracle, my car found the way home.

Down the street resides a tree that sets itself on fire long before the others.

Every year I rely on this tree to reintroduce me to
each color in the pallet of the harvest.
The leaves turn to flames and make their annual descent to the ground,
while all the other trees remain stubborn and green.
Once the tree strips itself naked, the other trees eventually fall suit.
I admire this tree and its willingness to set precedent for change.
Every day, while driving underneath this brave and fearless Oak,
I am tempted to shed my leaves, baring all that I have in hopes
that everything will fall into place. This, of course, is just a temptation;
One that I force to the back of my mind as I admire Autumns fallen embers.

Summer knows nothing of permanence.



(photo: christianog.com)

"Simple little beauty-
heaven in your breath.
The simplest of pleasures-
the world at it's best."

Sitting in the chair that refused to stay still,
I watched them gather around garment bags.
Unzipping each one with my eyes before they
could reach the zipper pull, I could see it all unravel;
it all came together. Their backs turned to me,
I thought it safe to let out an inaudible gasp,
and an accidental tear.

The thought of having my face and name in
glossy printed pages is something I could never
believe to be obtainable.

Flashbulbs and rose petals at my feet.
Roughly four months ago this all started.
There's no use in stopping now.

While at work, a girl I went to college with stopped to chat.
We exchanged the usual questions.
When asked about what it is I've been up to,
I told her that I've been working and modeling, etc,etc.

"But what happened to your dream of being a writer?"
"Oh, right. That."
"Did you change your mind?"
"No, no. Not at all. I'm just a little preoccupied, I guess."
"Oh."

After we said goodbye, I stood paralyzed.
Since I can remember I've told everyone that
I'm going to be a writer someday.
And here I am, making excuses, finding reasons
to put off the one thing I've always wanted.
I think after a minor adjustment of priorities,
writing and I will fall in love again.
Not to say I ever fell out of love,
I just need to reignite the flame, is all.

Not knowing what would happen
or what would resurface, I was scared
to accept the open line of communication
that was offered to me.
But I trusted myself.
I felt empowered by my ability to say no
and I felt awakened by realizing that
what I want and what I deserve are one in the same.
It turned out to be painful in ways I did not expect.
I anticipated doubt, but felt nothing but indifference.

A Mexican dinner. I avoided eye contact. It felt new again.
I shied away from the lens and he got angry.
I threw myself against the booth seat, confessing
my discomfort with the conversation at hand,
hiding from his suggestion; the one where the focus was separation
because there's something from keeping me from
letting him in.

I will never understand why I hide my face
or why I disappear time to time.
All I am adept to understand is that
I want to be free. No walls, no guards.
Free.

Each night it seems as though I say something wrong.
We turn our backs to one another. We go to bed alone.
In the middle of our uneasy sleep cycle, we mutely forgive
whatever caused us to grow distant.
I am awakened every night by dream
induced kisses upon my back.

All I am capable of doing is apologizing.
I feel safest when the words "I'm sorry" fall
from my mouth, usually breaking into a million pieces
upon impact. Each time, I silently pick up each
tiny, invisible shard and swallow them
so I can prepare to avert my
glance until the words decide to spill out again.

It astounds me that someone can call me beautiful
and tell me they love me every single day.
It astounds me even more so that I can say I love you
and it is reciprocated in every way imaginable.

If someone were to ask me what my favorite moment is,
I have prepared an honest answer.
It is when a glint or two of early morning sun cascades
through the space between the blinds; specks of dust
glimmering in dance, light weaving in and out of heavy
eyelashes, casting prismatic rainbows in my eyes.
Those moments, which are reoccurring, are the singular
moments where my world stops, holds its breath and
threatens to resume to a time where everything seems possible.

The house has temporarily returned to my preferred state
of unoccupied. I will walk room to room, pretending that each one
belongs to me. I will tend to the garden as if I planted each seed.
I will make the noise that will surely shake the frames from the walls.
It will be me who decides to let the sun in.



(photo: christianog.com)