Fires Don't Burn Forever

My Almost Lover,

It's completely conceivable that writing you a letter in a time like this will be the death of me, but I know that my words don't always come out right during verbal conversation.

The impact you've made on my life is meaningful and every moment we are together is completely satisfying. You make me smile, you make me think, you slow me down, you keep me wondering. I underestimate you and I realize that when I step back. But also, from my view when I step back, I realize that I am the one with the false impression, the one who judges harshly, generalizes unfairly, expresses temporary emotions uncontrollably. I want to make you feel exhilarated, passionate, adored. I want to release your inner-romantic, but my independence stands in front of me like a chain link fence -- one that I can climb over, but for some reason choose not to. I'm very sorry for that. You've been good to me and patient with me and it will always pain me to let you down.

Sadly, I think I was conscious of our fate from the beginning, and I held onto hope carefully, like an ice cube, with the possibility that the winter would restore it's composition. I believe in the potential that growth and change would draw me closer to you until you became my oxygen. Everything is natural, nothing is forced with you, and I strangely love the way you disarm me until I feel exposed waiting for you to make what you will with what I have expressed. You show me who I am, in a way, and it helps me remodel and build the person I want to be.

The flowers that were thoughtfully selected, presented, and placed in a vase of water, now stand fixed and dry in the vase. The water that remains is not sufficient to restore their vitality in the once vibrant, soft petals, and it only acts to prolong the perpetual fading that is apparent in the green stems. It seems a naive faith that the flowers would thrive without their roots, but it was worth the effort and their appeal is not to be forgotten or regretted.

I adore you and I hope we remain close.

Stay as you are,

Hope Token

Mighty Maple

There you go again, fading faultlessly

As though you didn’t want me to notice

As though you didn’t realize your loss

And I adore your presence in the spring

But your true colors are exposed most

When you quiver in the crisp fall zephyr

If the evening sun angles to your favor

You appear to be more alive than ever

Yet I’m sorry to know your cry for heed

Grants no wishes toward your mortality

And that the flattery fails to stop time

So your richest red and brightest yellow

Is the final statement you will herald

Before the winter cloaks you in white

Like a child I will defend your beauty

Step outside with a glue bottle in hand

With innocent intention to revive you

But my feet crush your fallen assets

Those dry skeletons that were once nimble

And used to wave as I ran down the street

But it’s not your fault, it’s just your time

And I respect your aim to fade so casually

Yet anticipate your revival in the spring

And appreciate your tangled fall tantrum.

Back in the Nest

One month of living at home and unemployed, it was time to make a decision: move in or move out.

The carpet of my room barely peaks through the mounds of unorganized clean clothes (some probably filthy) and other seemingly miscelaneous items scattered throughout. Getting to my bed on the far side of the room is like playing a game of twister by yourself. I lose the game every time - snap a pair of sunglasses under my foot, leave a dark footprint on my white shirt, or puncture my skin with a rebel tac.  

The decision to move in or out wasn't actually mine to make. It was theirs, whoever they are who never called me for a follow up interview. Heck, they didn't even email me to say "From your letters of recommendation, you sound like be a wonderful, passionate, hard-working person; but we are sorry to inform you that we have found somebody more qualified for the job." Nope, none of that. I finally logged onto their website to view my application status, which bluntly stated: REVIEWED; NOT SELECTED.

Ma! Pa! I'm officially moving in! No more of this half-in half-ready-to-flee crap, with boxes still packed as they were when I left my college apartment. I'm literally making myself at home, because it's going to be a cold winter back in the nest.

I find myself snapping back at the stellar jay heckling me outside the window. "Shush, you! It's not my fault I'm not qualified for any of the jobs I'm applying for!" He just cocks his head to the left, then to the right, and shuffles away from me along the power line. 

See, living at home can be a bit of a doosy. The pecking order of cards in my wallet has flipped. Instead of my credit card and ID being the most used, my library card has shuffled forward. If you text me and ask me what I'm up to, my reply will probably leave you wondering if you accidentally texted your grandma instead. Hello, I'm actually knitting a giant sock to keep the exposed toes of my brothers casted leg warm. Yes, I'm handwriting letters to my friends in other regions of the country. Mhmm, I sure am planting a bulb garden in our front yard. I spent half a day listening to Van Morrison and making origami flowers, then when I decided to fill out my dry erase board calendar, I had no events or trips or due dates to busy it with. Just a perfectly empty month of October.

And a perfectly empty month of October it will continue to be at this rate. 

But there is beauty in downtime. The beauty to be creative. The beauty of self improvement. The beauty of strengthening blood relationships. The beauty of inspiration that pours out of the fountain of freedom. But I'm penniless, so with nothing but pocket lent to throw in the well, it's taking a lot of initiative to bust out the walls of this box. 

So, alternatively, I sift through the boxes that contain evidence of my five years at college being what they were. Pictures, letters, sentimental objects, and lots of memories attached to just about everything. Unpacking made me realize how long college really was. The flux of people who impacted my life, for the better or worse, ushered to my current status tears and laughter, sometimes both at the same time. In every romance there was a climax immediately followed by a downfall. In every friendship there was time and space undulating between us with no sense of rhythm or direction. With every personal battle, there remains a scar and a lesson learned. Sadly in college, I had no eminent endurance for anything but running and school, what I considered my noble priorities. And now that I'm finished with those priorities, I'm left with a hint regret for not following through on some aspects of my personal life. The irony of it all is that my passion lies in personal relationships. It's love that I must find before this life is over. It's love that ignites a fire in me to change or grow or create. It's love that my orbit wraps in a cozy desire. 

It's love that has now soared high and mighty as my noble priority.

It's love that I'm searching for...