Creative Response 4/7/16

He's a divine force I never want to leave me. I am consumed by him at all times, whether he is with me or without me.

"An angel boy met a girl. She was a complete basketcase. But, I guess in the end, he found out she wasn't so bad after all."

"He didn't know her then."

"But since that day she has been his, even without his knowledge."

"She was beautiful."

We sit on the green hill. Tiny white flowers speckle the grass, and we embrace one another as we overlook the bridge over the waters. We are just surrounded by nature; even though he is in my presence, every little thing reminds me of him. The leaves of trees, dancing in the breeze, the grass rippling with the winds, the Sun beating down on us and preparing itself to enter me.

"To dash against darkness, in the sleeping curves of my body."

"I shall enter fingers of smooth mastery, with chasteness of sea-girls. Will I complete the mystery of my flesh?"

We recite E.E. Cummings, and fall into each other.

"I will take the Sun in my mouth, and leap into the ripe air, alive with closed eyes."

Creative Response 4/1/16 "Safe Again"

"She's walking to the edge of the cliff again."

The elderly couple just sat by the window of their cottage, looking out into the grey morning and watching their granddaughter indeed walk out to the edge of the cliff they lived on. They all lived on top of a mountain, with a beautiful, splendid view that overlooked the ocean and the rest of the Nordic island. In her arms she carried many things: broken bottles and cutlery, car parts, and whatever she could find lying around. She just stood there, staring at the bottom.

One by one the objects were thrown off into the water. She watched as they fell those hundreds of feet down and hit the rocks, shattering into pieces or getting stuck in the crevices. The water splashed against them and washed away whatever made it intact. She sat down and just stared down, and imagined what her body would sound like, slamming against those rocks.

This was her way to start the day.

Isobel had been doing this for as long as she could remember, as long as it had been since she had become an orphan. She did this every single day, very early into the morning when no one else was awake, going back to her cliff to throw things off. Her grandparents had been watching this for a few months now without her knowledge. They had been worried at first, but as time went on they just learned to accept it, given her situation; a battered, abused orphan girl about to enter adulthood, and they were just too old to do anything about it. They would let the phases run their course, or become a part of her.

The one day they confronted her, she stayed so calm about it. Yet, there was no denying the wistful agony that trembled on the edges of her soft voice.


"I go through all this before you wake up. To be...."

They paused. They waited.

"All I want is to be safe again with you. Safe again."

Creative Response 3/24/16; "Away"

I needed to get away for a while.

It wasn't my family, so loving yet overbearing. Nor my schooling, or my job, my friends. It was something so natural to me, I couldn't tell anyone about it.

I boarded a plane to Atlanta, Georgia, on a cool Saturday morning. I arrived there at around 4 pm, and took a rental car all the way down to Columbus, which took about an hour and a half. I booked a room at a Hilton Garden Inn and from there I headed in the way of Fort Benning, a military base much like Fort Bragg or Fort Lewis; if you were a military brat, you'd completely understand.

I had no specific destination at that point. I would just go wherever my heart allowed, wherever it told me to. I needed gas, and food, so I pulled into a gas station right across from the PX and shoppette, right by a Burger King and a Dunkin' Donuts. As I got out, I stopped to watch a scene unfold before me.

A young and pretty girl, maybe 17, jumped out of her parents' silver BMW and ran to embrace a young man. He was tall, lean, with very broad shoulders and a long and graceful neck, like a Greek statue. He was obviously a GI. They held each other, the girl laughing hysterically and crying, the boy smiling madly. It was such a beautiful sight, and I can say that I've never forgotten it once to this day.

I went back to the hotel, and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning I just wandered about the place, as I said I would. I had breakfast at a lovely diner called Ruth Ann's, and a saw a movie. Later when I got back to the hotel for a little rest, I decided to check out the environment surrounding the place. There was a very large pond, a sidewalk beside it, lined with trees and a couple benches. There were ducks and geese here and there, a few pear blossom trees blooming with their beautiful white flowers. It was honestly a very pretty sight. I sat on a bench and just surveyed the area, feeling a sense of serenity I'd not felt in a while.

And then, I saw them.

The couple from yesterday was walking together down the sidewalk, talking and laughing while holding hands. I watched them sit on the bench maybe 15 feet away from mine, and almost immediately they began to cuddle and kiss. Any other older person would be nearly nauseous watching a scene like that, even myself; but suddenly, I didn't. I just felt so connected to them. I wished them all the happiness in the world.

They got up and walked a bit more. I never took my eyes away from them once. They crossed the bridge over the water and walked up stone steps on a very green hill littered in small flowers, then sat themselves there. They were just talking, laughing some more, kissing. Took pictures together. The boy laid his head in the girl's lap, singing songs to her, and their gazes towards each other were the most memorable moments that I have. It was such a pure love. I felt like I'd been a part of those memories all along.

I watched them for what may have been hours, until they ran back down to the parking lot of the hotel. They jumped into her parents' BMW and quickly drove away. I figured they were taking him back to his barracks for formation, and hurriedly so, because they lost track of the time. I remembered something from a long time ago just then, the very same thing.

I realized why I had come here, why I needed to get away.

My memories from those beautiful times needed to come back home. 

Thirst (Creative Response 2/26/16

Thirsting for him was the hardest thing she'd ever have to live with. Many had told her she would be fine without him; after all, she wasn't born needing him and had lived without him long before he came around. 

She thought -- believed -- much differently. She had come to the final conclusion that everyone is born with an insatiable thirst. They won't acknowledge it ever until something comes along to trigger it: that something, in her case, being him. 

And it was truly torture.

The worst part of it all was that he knew who she was. It would have been better if she was not existent to him; then there would be a good reason for him to not be with her. 

Yet, he knew her name, knew her face, had heard her voice when she answered questions in class, and had handed her her stuff with a treasured smile when she dropped it in the hallway. There was no way to forget him so easily. She held onto his smile whenever she thought of him, and of the way he so gently patted her shoulder when he said goodbye. The biggest crush had turned into the most intense fixation, driving her decisions and emotions over the edge. Her straight A's became B's, her sweaters became modest tank-tops, and her usually organized room was left cluttered. 

He was all she ever thought about, all she ever wanted. The thirst was taking over.

Hidden Place

Her eyes were wide open when he placed the back of his hand against her face. He gazed deeply into her heart-shaped face, secretly wanting her to gaze back with the same reverie he held, and knowing she would not. They stood there for what could have been all of eternity, compressed into a single second, holding every single archive of their touches.

"I was born with these hands to do this."

She finally closed her eyes as his hand trailed to her collarbone, and rested there. It laid still and did not move any further.

"Tell me I was made to do this. Tell me."

Her fingers reached up to encircle his, but she kept her eyes firmly closed to hide her soul. He could never know how she truly felt, or he would become content to stop chasing her forever. He could not have her. Not yet.

This was their hidden place, to which they ran away to when the game became null and void of purpose. When they returned to this place their game was renewed. She would then run away and he would follow her like always.

This time was different. She was not running away. She hated herself for it.

He pressed his lips to her temple.

Creative Response 2/11/16

"I absolutely cannot go a second without knowledge of his existence.

He isn't my phone, where I have to check things online every five seconds. He is this lingering thought, hanging over my soul in a constant rhythm, awaiting my inevitable response. I think of him and grow warm. If I don't have him, I grow even madder than the deities have destined me to be. I am unashamedly addicted to his existence, and as far fetched as it is, he is a drug to me.

He doesn't even know it."

Creative Response 2/5/16

My purpose is to create. Without this, I've nothing.

This is what I'd tattoo on myself to remember what I am.

And my name. Maybe I could tattoo a bunch of names to choose from. And those of people I'd like to remember. My family, of course; my best friend, why not; and him. He who I created so much for. This is why I must be reminded of my purpose, for I must be ready to create the art and music I lived for.

That was five minutes ago. I think I can remember on my own.