Of-Heliotropes

She sat by the window as raindrops freckled the cheap glass. The storm roiling outside seemed to maintain a riotous tempo with the tempest inside her. She pressed her head to the cool glass as warm tears wet her cheeks, mixing quietly with the smudged shadows of raindrops streaming down the window pane.And the world seemed a little smaller, as if the storm caused it to collapse in on itself. She was overcome by feelings of loneliness and abandonment. As if her weak body housed the only living, breathing spirit on the planet. A derisive snort escaped her lips, the reflection of her sneer condemning her pathetic narcissism. She was after all no

I have always wondered what love felt like to other people. To hear the poets describe it, it might as well be a form of insanity, where nothing seems to make sense and this senselessness seems to make absolute sense. Hollywood makes it seem like its nothing more than bone melting physical attraction between beautiful people with perfectly coiffed hair who are absolutely confident and can share playful banter interspersed with 'I like you just the way you are' compliments. Thinking the poets to be prophets and Hollywood to be the mangled interpretations of the prophetic encased in poreless beauty, I waited. I waited for love. I waited for in

Reflection. An image of ourselves, looking back us. They can be comforting in so many ways. Looking into a mirror every morning, my hand pressed against the cool glass, linked to my doppelganger, somehow affirms my minor existence. That I am here, in this time, ready to start another day. It confirms my determination to keep going, despite the exhaustion evident in my body and in the dark circles that softly smudge the contours of my eyes. It ties me to what I have in this moment- a body and mind that functions, family and friends that care about me, and a world that is full of possibilities. However sometimes these reflections are surprisin