Paper Lights

Paper Lights

There was this place hidden deep within the forest, it was an abandoned cottage. When they first stumbled across it they laughed about how it may be haunted. However, when they walked through its arched doorway they felt at home. In the middle of the floor there lay an old antique rug, now layered with dust. On the fireplace were a few left over knick knacks and the very atmosphere of the cottage created a sense of comfort. They decided this would be their place!
***
Every chance they got they would meet at the cottage. Allison would bring decorations and Eric would bring tools to help spruce up the place. They could not light the fireplace so instead Allison would light candles within paper bags. Sometimes they would stay out there until the early morning just relishing in one another. Their favorite part of the cottage was the upstairs loft. There was just enough room for a few pillows, a blanket, and their bodies wrapped around one another. That is where they first uttered the words I love, it was where they decided to make love for the first time and eventually the place they would say goodbye.
In a few weeks Allison would be moving away. Her parents had decided to move to California some 2,600 miles away from the cottage, the place they'd come to call home. Both of them lay heartbroken in the loft that night. Silent tears streamed down their faces. Eric whispered a broken sob "we were suppose to be forever". In that moment Allison reached for the razor blade in Eric's toolbox. In the wood surrounding the loft's window she wrote.

"Forever; as the words etched in this grain
So should our love remain
And though by miles we separate
We shall be together again some day

Love is not for the weak, but those who fight
Do not fear for I will return to ignite
When the stars are out and they sky night
Here is where I will burn a paper light"

***
It had been 737 days since Allison left North Carolina but still every night Eric walked the scattered path to their cottage. Many times he thought he might give up but something always dragged  him out into the wood. He missed her, as if a piece of him had been ripped off. If only he could hear her voice he thought. Though he knew that once he heard that sweet musical tone of hers he'd only long for her more. Sometimes he thought he might hop on a plane and go search for her down the crowded roads of San Francisco, but her parents hated him. An Indian girl, especially their Indian girl would not love a white boy.
***'
On day 742 he drifted through the woods slowly. In the sky he saw a brewing storm and nearly turned back, but alas he kept moving toward the cottage. He thought of the words etched in the wood; forever their love would remain. He believed in those words with all his soul. As the rain began pouring down he picked up his pace. He was almost to the cottage when he saw something -- something flickering in the distance. He started running, racing for his life. When he came upon the cottage he stopped. Rain pelted the ground around him and he could not tell the difference between it and his tears. There in the loft window it was shining! What he longed for every day for over two years. Yes there in that window was a symbol of hope in the form of a paper light!

-MAGGIE V.

"Losing Sight"

"Losing Sight"

~A Short Story~

I loved everything about her. I loved the way she ordered the same black coffee every morning except on Fridays, because Fridays she said “should have a little oomph.” I loved the way she sang in the car on long drives. I loved the way she looked off to the side when she giggled because she was a little shy. I loved that girl. Every single thing about her and yet I let her slip away. I let her drift off to find someone else. I would give anything to hear her sing again or make her laugh but I would never get those things. I knew deep in my soul that I’d be forced to wander Earth for the rest of my days as a lost man, a broken man.

The first day I met her it was at the coffee shop on the corner of 5^th street. She was bouncing her hips to the tune of Coltrane playing throughout the café.  I had an urge to touch her hair that curled to the middle of her back. Those reddish brown curls looked unbelievably soft. There were two other men in between us both staring at her ass. Though who was I to judge that’s where my eyes kept travelling as well. When it was her turn to order she bounced up to the corner ordering her tall black coffee and chit chatting with the barista as if she were a friend. The barista handed her the coffee and when she turned to leave I was frozen. Bright coral blue eyes shone at me for just a second as she flashed a brilliant smile. Then she was out the door, gliding down the sidewalk.

“Sir are you going to order?” I heard the barista’s voice behind me. I must have been staring at the corner she disappeared around for a while because the two men in front of me had already ordered.

“Yes a macchiato please no cream.” I said embarrassed.

The barista handed me my drink and I turned to leave.

“She comes in every morning by the way.” I heard the barista again.

“Excuse me?” I asked

“The woman you were staring after, she comes in every morning.” She repeated.

I gave the barista a soft smile of thanks. I left knowing that I would come to this coffee shop every day until I got the nerve to speak to her. I got the nerve three days later and asked her out. I was lucky enough to spend the next six months with her. I fell head over heels in love. I wanted to know everything about her, all of her passions and obsessions. I learned what she loved and made it my mission to make every day special, at least for the first month or so.

She was vibrant and full of life and I felt as if I couldn’t go a day without seeing her. I would bring her flowers to work, take her to her favorite museum, and cook her favorite meals. I did everything I could think of to make her love me the way I loved her and it worked. After a month of blissful dating she told me she loved me. I felt like the happiest man in the world. For the next month we spent every waking moment together, making love under the stars, in the park, wherever we could really. We took a trip to Colorado and I taught her how to ski, she learned to make my favorite dessert and perfected the recipe. We were in love and something in the back of my head told me I no longer had to worry, this girl was mine.  

I could sit here and make excuses for what happened over the next four months but the truth of it is that I got lazy. Here I had chased after this beautiful enigmatic woman but once the mystery was solved on my part I stopped chasing. I should have never chased her to begin with she wasn’t some animal to be hunted, no she was an art piece to be admired and treasured. Over the next four months she continued learning everything she could about me, and did her absolute best to make sure I smiled at least once a day. She overwhelmed me with love, spoiling me, taking care of me, encouraging me and I reveled in it. I loved her but I was too lazy to show her how much I loved her.

I stopped bringing her flowers, I stopped taking her to the places she loved, and I stopped cooking. I just kept telling myself she loves me and that’s all that matters. But love is not just a feeling it is a continuous action that we display in many different ways. I did not understand that concept until the day my love walked out the front door. We had been arguing about doing more as a couple, growing together, and compromising. I was content to do things my way and she wanted me to put more effort into doing things our way. That was the worst part. She was never selfish throughout the whole process, she only wanted things to be better for us. It was never about just her, it was always about us.

The day she left we’d started arguing again. She woke up that day threw on a pretty pale pink dress, did her hair the way I liked and declared we’d being going out on the town for the day. I told her that I’d gotten us tickets to the baseball game and that she’d probably want to change out of her dress into something more casual. She looked so put down in that moment as if she were defeated. I remember thinking why does she look so sad I love baseball. She started to tell me how she felt our relationship was one sided that she felt like she was just a piece in my story instead of us making our own story. I of course belittled her response and told her not to be so emotional. She walked up stairs and I assumed she’d be changing to go to the game but when she came back down she was still in that pale pink dress with her brown leather luggage bag in her hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked shocked

“I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore, I love you with all my heart and I would do anything to keep this relationship strong and beautiful but it doesn’t just take one person.” She said a single tear streaming down her face

“Well I’m here aren’t I? I’m a part of this relationship I can’t believe you would just leave all because I want to go to the baseball game.” I said getting angry.

“I’m not leaving because of the baseball game, I’m leaving because you’re content with “I” and I need an “Us”.” She said as she walked past me and through the door.

I was so angry with her still convinced that she left because of a baseball game. I called a friend offered him the other ticket calling her a selfish bitch and went to the game anyways. It was there at the game in about the 6^th inning that I realized what she meant. Over the last four months I couldn’t remember a time that I’d asked what she wanted to do or done anything for just the joy of seeing her smile. I had chased her and gotten her to fall in love with me and then I gave up. I gave up on seeing her smile as she looked at one of her favorite paintings, I gave up on seeing her eyes light up at the sight of a new book I’d bought her, I gave up on showing her I loved her and in turn gave up on us.

I still went to the same coffee shop everyday but she never showed. Then a few weeks ago I was walking down Main St on my way to a meeting when I saw familiar curls through a coffee shop window. She was standing in line waiting to order her black coffee with a pump of caramel because today was Friday. She looked hauntingly beautiful and for a moment I thought I’d go in but then I saw a man walk up next to her and put his arm around her waist. After all it had been several months and I never tried calling. She looked happy. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I thought I loved that girl. I loved everything about her.

 

-Maggie V.

Depression

DEPRESSION

~Let’s Talk About It~

Depression. The moment you read that word you instinctively flinch. The word itself elicits the feeling it defines. Sadness but not just any sadness, overwhelming sometimes incontrollable sadness. Approximately 350,000,000 people are affected by some form of depression globally. That is a lot of people that are affected by a disease that we are often times scared to talk about. So why are we so put off by the very mentioning of the word?

On a societal level depression is unacceptable. When someone says they are depressed an image immediately pops into our heads. That image is of a boy/girl in a black moping around whining about their terrible life, this image is also completely false 9/10. Reality tells us that depression affects everyone. Whether it’s the star athlete on the high school basketball team or the neighborhood soccer mom, depression does not discriminate and that is something we as a society have to learn.  We don’t want to hear our loved ones tell us that they have depression, and we don’t want to talk about it. But why? Why is it so unacceptable to hear that our loved ones are struggling with something much bigger than them? Why are we so quick to throw that word out the window and ignore those who claim to suffer from it? Because as a society we are told to be strong and happy. We are constantly hearing quotes like “happiness is a choice” or “you control how you feel”. What if that isn’t always true? What if we were being suffocated by feelings that we had absolutely no control over?

Did you know that nearly 30% of college students admit to feeling depressed? College students! These are the guys who are supposed to be having the times of their lives and yet 30% of them feel trapped and alone. Most parents don’t talk about how the pressures of the world can affect our life, we don’t warn our kids about the unforeseen realities that sometimes life hits us in the face with and that needs to change. We need to start teaching our children that sometimes you can’t get everything right, sometimes life doesn’t work out the way you plan and that it’s okay. See we are so caught up in being positive and pushing our children to believe in themselves that we forget to mention that sometimes it doesn’t work out. I’m not saying that we should fill our children’s heads with negativity or be any less encouraging but we also need to prepare them for when life doesn’t pan out the way they thought it would. False hope leads to no hope. The next step we need to take is talking about when life does throw a curve ball that it’s okay to feel upset. Those feelings of darkness, and loneliness they’re okay to have. But we need to talk about them in order to work through them!

11% of adolescents have been diagnosed with depression disorder before turning 18! 11% may not seem like a large number but in the bigger picture its huge because how many kids do you think suffer in silence? In our society we are very quick to judge one another and push unrealistic expectations on one another, especially in this internet driven era. With sites like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter being platforms for portraying a life that hundreds of other people “see” we sometimes get lost in who we are on the internet and who we really are. Kids are so worried about being accepted and liked that they create personas to please those around them. They are so afraid to be themselves because being yourself isn’t good enough anymore. Especially if yourself means being depressed. Young children who exhibit signs of depression are ostracized which is why so many suffer in silence. They fear being isolated when in reality they’re more alone than ever by not accepting themselves.

As a society we need to stop being put off by the word depression. We need to stop setting unrealistic expectations of who young men and women should be and we need to talk. We need to talk to our children, talk to our friends, and talk to our students. Depression. See I say that word and I don’t flinch. I say that word and I feel relieved that I can say it and tell you I have it and not be ashamed. I say that word knowing that there are 350,000,000 people suffering from it right now and they too should not be ashamed. I hope to see the world become more accepting of this disease that tears lives apart from the inside. I hope to see those who suffer from it start reaching out and I hope to see those who are reached out to accept their loved ones for who they are.

Depression – talk about it.

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/01/20/depression-statistics_n_6480412.html

Woman Writer Crush Wednesday!

Woman Writer Crush Wednesday!

 

Emily Dickinson - you've all heard the name and probably read a few of her works in your High School English class. Maybe you thought her morbid, maybe you didn't think much about her at all but Emily Dickinson was an extremely important figure in Literature especially for women.

 

Dickinson happens to be one of my favorite poets behind the likes of Poe if simply because I too am obsessed with death and tragedy in my writing. There is something that always fascinated me about Emily's writing - often times there was an undertone of humor or sarcasm in her writing. In a lot of her poetry there are undertones about humanity's vanity. Her sarcasm is usually unnoticed as most people reflect on the dark imagery of her prose. However, understanding that she had a sense of humor is very important to her work. Women were not thought to be funny or to have substantial opinions back in her day and age. The fact that her poetry is riddled with both humor and opinions is extremely vital to the history of women in Literature.

 

I loved reading Emily's work for several reasons. First of it was spoken truly, she was never afraid to give a heavy dose of reality to those who read her work. It came from the depths of her soul - she talked about her biggest fears, her hopes, and the things she held dearest. It is work that anyone and everyone can relate to. Though most often than not people peg Dickinson as a morbid poet who they cannot understand, that was not the only theme in her work. Love of nature, spirituality and hope are themes within her work as well. The fact that she not only wrote about the positives in life but also the morbid negatives makes her so relatable. She was not one-sided. She was not happy go lucky all the time. She had good days and bad days, and she saw the world as it was yet analyzed the way she wanted it to be.

 

She was a true artist who poured her soul into her work. I only hope that someday I inspire a young mind the way she inspired mine. If you haven't explored her work before or outside of a classroom setting I encourage you to do. She had a lot more to offer to the world of poetry than just some morbid ideas on death. TRUST ME.

 

-Maggie V.

 

Hope is the thing with feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.


I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.