'Who am I' she asks : A creative explosion of paradoxical remarks the student replied.





Letting go of your hand, I felt fear
In case you would forget me, long after I
Had already begun to move on.
“Why do you think we want to be
Remembered?” You asked once before.
I stopped making believe
Of our fake dialogues since
I can remember.

A Choice


“Choose wisely,
Would you have your words be
Brave or sincere, since you can’t
Have both so long as
Pride and your desire are in
Play.” I pondered in the split
Second before replying
And realized this has always been
A choice
All along.

15 Years Your Junior

Something about being put in your place, because otherwise we lose perspective that way. It is easy to acknowledge that 15 years is a long time, or to count mathematically any number of years that someone has had to experience life for the matter. I easily admit to the difference in number of years between myself and somebody. I say it with comprehension of the words, not the meaning. In fact, I say it so often what with the majority of people in my life being predominantly older than me, I forget what the words mean anymore.

I had forgotten what a large expanse 15 years, in this case, can afford in someone’s life. All things considered the universe is 4.5 billion years old, I had taken this comparison out of context and let the infinitely smaller span of time we have cohesively on earth, to recognize the weight of 15 years. Take 15 years of my life – that’s 3/4 of my life. For arguing’s sake, likely the first 5 weren’t all the impressive. Then it’s really my whole life up until this point we are making a concept of.

I understood this one afternoon after a┬ávideo call with him, right in the middle of my fumble for words to try to explain myself. If someone tried to make light of the 15 years I have lived, sheltered and young throughout much of the count as I may have been, well, that simply wouldn’t do. It can’t be defined, these number of years that has made me who I am. Likewise I cannot fight to compensate for the 15 years that he has above me, it is silly to try so mentally; for the people he has met and felt for, for the intensity of joys and sorrow, accomplishments and setback; these nuance subtleties that naturally impresses upon all of us with time, I cannot overwrite them with childish, possessive will. The realization of this rather simple fundamental principle behind my easily admitted statement, that he’s 15 years my senior, I feel like I’ve just understood now. And with that understanding, most of my worries, insecurities, fears of abandonment with this man has sort of vanished. I’ve thought about them and can’t recall how they have dissipated so easily considering the time it had spent percolating in my head. Hard to put into words, but there’s a calm and quiet when I think about this expanse of time he had been through while I was living through mine. Yes, 15 years is an age gap, and there is a difference in stance against life between us, but you’re here now, and I’m here. Most importantly to digest in my impatient mind – you’ll be here tomorrow, you’re here even in this hour while you sleep across the world, and I’ll remember this most for those times I awoke multiple times during the night reaching out a hand just to feel your physical presence. You’ll be here. 15 years more.


A sort of love letter.

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celeste lee cloud

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