Like GlassThey're like glass, I think. Glass windows on a cold day; the kind of day cold enough to get you run back into the house to grab that jacket you considered grabbing before anyway, but not cold enough to make you scratch at the frost on your windshield, because God knows when the defroster is actually going to work (let's hope the car even starts). Cold, cool, bright glass with a tint of blue coming from some subtle and intangible inner warmth. Sometimes misted over, but not enough to hide. A shade of blue that can only be found in glassy eyes like his. Yeah, I think, something like that.I remember first staring at my reflection in those mirrors. No, that first time is a repressed memory. I'm still sorry about that high-five. The next time when I really noticed. Seemingly gray in the light, but they were really that shade of blue that complements everything, like black and white do to any outfit. Well, almost any outfit, usually. I thought they chameleon-cycled colors, but I'll
You Are My MuseThe need to write is overpowering. What about, is the question. You are my muse, you always are and always will be. I love that I hate you or hate that I love you. You are the change of seasons, the distribution of stars, the colors in the clouds, the sun in my eyes. You are the chemical imbalance in my brain and that thorn in my side. I'm a passerby. You are a statue in the middle of the playing field. I speed a corner, I pull back the wheel. Silence as you stand still, the earth shaking at my feet. I look up at you. I think bad of you. You look down at me, you laugh along with me. The cold stare. The empty stare. The missing stare. I turn my head, blink my eyes, there you are. Always, always, always.And so I write.
9.11.01It was seven years ago today.I remember it so well. We were young kids, students in a Catholic school. In our bright red sweaters we wondered why our classmates were being picked up, our teachers in and out of classrooms with an strange expression on their usually cheery faces. No, we weren't allowed outside for recess. We wondered why and remained in the classroom, speculating as only little kids can. We listened attentively to the PA to see if our parents had come to pick us up too, just to ask them what was going on. I wasn't expecting to be -- I was one of those kids. The buses came early. Mom was waiting in the shade underneath the tree in front of our house, arms folded and looking apprehensive. I had no idea.I stand in front of the rusted frame that used to stand tall in the middle of the city. Arms folded and almost shivering, it was a chilly morning to fit the day. My sleeves and skirt are rolled. I no longer wear red. The cars and trucks rolled by, only some giving h