You’re not sure why you’re here. There has to be a reason, doesn’t there? People don’t just show up places, especially not sparse, quaint little studies with a single desk and tinted windows.
You look around. It’s nice, you suppose, in a quiet sort of way. There’s a box on the desk, about the size of a bread loaf—was it there a moment ago? Thick oak wood with a polished sheen, silver latch that beckons to be opened. You obey, of course, flicking up the metal and lifting the lid.
Nestled inside, amidst the crushed-velvet interior, your fingers brush up against another box. It looks to be identical, save for being a fraction of the size. You take it out, open it, and feel a sting of déjà vu as more polished wood comes into sight.
Colin’s jacket is dark, heavy, sturdy—although there’s barely a hint of a chill in the thick summer’s night air. Its many pockets are full, almost as jam-packed as the tattered suitcase that lays beside him on the dented metal bench. But despite his preparedness, his head echoes with the taunting notion that something has been forgotten, something left behind unnoticed in his rush to leave home that morning. Reaching into his jeans, he grabs the remains of a dry granola bar, half-eaten on a bus ride that seems ages ago.
Whatever it was he’d forgotten, it’s not snacks.
Munching away, Colin scruffs his boot against the grainy concrete as the music in his ears attempts to soothe his nervous, tapping fingers. The last bus has long since come and gone from this stop, the streetlamp to his left flickering tiredly against the sky. The moon, like his mind and his pockets, is full—it does much more to light the fields around him than its synthetic counterpart.
Gloom lifts, fog dries Revealing a blue that flares ‘cross the skies Beams glint over ice and slip through the window To light up my room with a buttery glow Gold pools at my feet; like summer, so sweet While the earth is still coated in snow.
While choosing which photos to showcase at my photography camp, I decided to split them into four categories—Photos that included flowers, fences, windows, or photographers. Originally, these “themes” were slightly broader (nature, ‘barriers,’ buildings, and people), but I chose not to display four of the images I had printed out in order to keep the categories more contained. Many of my photos play with depth of field, blurring some areas of the scene while keeping others in focus. In the future, I’d like to play around with different shutter speeds, photographing things in motion. I enjoy photography because it allows me to capture unnoticed or unappreciated details in the world around me, from the unusual slant of a dock to a bee alighting on a flower.
The universe is upside down. The lights of the city, so bright, so dazzling, are below me as I float across the breeze. The galaxy lies beneath, not overhead. Above, the inky blackness reigns, dripping down between the buildings, running through the streets, engulfing all but the brightest of lights. Some of these lights twinkle, some stand still, and some zoom past, hurrying off to nowhere, like comets or shooting stars. I make no wish. I have nothing to wish for. I’m in no hurry. I have nowhere to be. A speck of light holds no office hours, needs no days off, has no strict schedule, no schedule at all. Unlike this city, I am calm. Unlike this city, I am quiet. All sounds are distant. They echo within me, yet leave no lasting effect. I am free, floating on the breeze, my thoughts mirroring its easy flow.
There are days when I don’t feel like writing. When every word I pick Is wrong Rings false Falls flat. When I want so badly to express something, To communicate Exactly what I’m feeling The words inside my heart The thoughts trapped inside my head, But can’t. There are days when it seems pointless to try. When I know I’ll never be able to create anything Of value Of substance That means anything at all. I have a lot of these days. Days when I can’t Stir up emotions Provoke deeper thinking Create worlds With just my words. I can’t discuss The meaning of the constellations, The revelations of mankind, The beauty of the setting sun, Or even what’s inside my own mind. My mind is numb My heart is frozen My soul is empty, But my mind too full. Too full of thoughts I can’t get out—
I am the one who wants to understand. I want to know what there is to know. I want to reach out my arms, Spread them wide, and feel the wind. I want to let the words flow And sparkle on the page, Or let them tumble from my mouth, Crafted effortlessly into perfect prose. I want to be inspired, Enlightened, Amazed. I want to comprehend the nuances of life, The arcs and connections and meanings. To know the way the stars paint the sky, Why poems and songs can be so breathtaking, How my life is so small, yet so large. To know all this, if only just for a moment. Even if I forget it again. I want the world to shrink To the size of an apple So I can examine it at my leisure, And understand its depths exactly. I want it to grow, so very large, So that each blade of grass Towers high overhead, And I see everything within; From the smallest living things