How?

How do you prepare yourself for the unknown? Is it possible to wake up every day and know that that day may be the day you die? How can you wake up in the morning? How can you get out of bed? Would you do the same routine each day, brush your teeth and look yourself in the eyes, spit and rinse, dry your mouth, and turn away from what could be your last reflection? Would you make your bed, eat a healthy breakfast or would you leave your bed unmade and eat your favorite chocolate bar? Would you drive to work taking the same roads or would you call it quits and drive through the country side, enjoying the beauty of nature? If you knew what time you were supposed to die, would you call everyone and say good bye? Would you tell them that you loved them and that you wouldn’t forget them ever? Would you drive to your parent’s house and lye on your mother’s lap, give your dad a hug, sit in your old room, on your old bed and remember your life? Would you write a letter to those who you loved most and write down at least one memory with every person mentioned? Would you go to your favorite spot and stay there, waiting for your moment, smiling at the beauty around you, remembering good times, and close your eyes, tilting your head to the skies, ready?

Dylan

I’m not sure what it is about you that I can’t keep out of mind. Maybe it’s the way your lips, full and pink, took in my kiss and sucked my bottom lip, pulling me closer to you, sending chills of excitement deep into my stomach or when you just gave me a peck on the lips between long, passionate kisses. Maybe it was the way you nibbled my ear and then blew into it, making me shiver. Perhaps it was your hands and the way they caressed my face and ran through my hair; the way they ran over my arms and along my sides, making me giggle because it tickled. Or the way you ran your fingertips through my palm and along my wrist before holding my hand. Or it was your eyes; beautiful blue-green eyes and the way they stared at me. The look you gave me just before you- you know. Or the smiles and smirks you displayed when I made a sound. Or the way you embraced me when we came together and your fingertips grazed my thighs and your lips kissed my neck, my chest; my lips being pulled into something so passionate. Maybe it was when you kissed my thighs, or my stomach. Or maybe it was when you woke me up by kissing my shoulder and opening my eyes to see you above me in the middle of the night, staring back. Or it was the way you held me while we rested; or the way you laid your head against my chest and I kissed your forehead, running my fingers through your hair. Or maybe it was when I had my first orgasm and you kissed me the whole time- long, hard, and never letting go. Maybe it was the way you woke up and thinking that I was still asleep tucked the hair behind my ear, brushing it way from my face in the morning. Maybe that was when I fell for you accidentally.

I can’t seem to think a single thought without you interrupting me. Your eyes, your smile, your lips, and your touch all linger still in my mind after all this time. I want to see you and hold your hand in mine, entwine our fingers, feel our hearts as eyes linger, for just a moment longer feel your arms around my waist, pulling me in for one more kiss. Feel your breath just before you kiss me, feel your heart beat against mine; listen to the soft whisper of the sheets around us moving, feeling each kiss intensify my breathing. The way your lips tickled my ear and brushed across my nose, the way you made my heart stop and start— sending butterflies throughout my body, made me smile. Opening my eyes to see you looking right at me, seeing deep into my thoughts, reading every movement, every sound, every kiss, you are too good to be true.

From Such Great Heights

From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From up on high
In the clouds that float the waves of the skies
I can see the true beauty that great men wrote of.
From upon the twinkling beauty of stars
Ah, the loveliness of silence.
From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From this bird’s wing
The tree tops dance to singing winds.
From inside this ray of sunshine
The prairies, flowers, mountains, and waters
Shine forever pretty in warmth.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From this blade of grass grown in the city sidewalks
I see the footsteps of many who have forgot.
From this falling raindrop
Pollution and dirtiness fall; no longer fresh.
From the many eyes of the fly swatted away
Garbage, annoyance, and impatience I see and feel.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From here upon the wings of the moth
No longer attracted to natural fire,
I feel the cold yet dangerous burn of the unattainable.
From behind the steam and smoke
Felt the burn of nuclear plants and coal-run factories.
But from behind the iris of hazel
Inside the palm of skin only months old
Under the toes of feet learning balance
Heard from the inside of new canals
Felt deep within the beating rush of life
Oh the world! How it looks so hopeful!

Good Morning

I push the toothbrush across my teeth
Each bristle moves across molars, incisors, canines, etc
I bend down and spit
I watch the water sweep up the watered down paste and foam
Swirl into the drain and disappear forever
I look up to only look straight into my medicine cabinet
Top shelf: pills
Middle shelf: toothpaste, toothbrush, water glass
Bottom shelf: the washers – face and mouth
I put the blue toothbrush on the middle shelf
In front of the toothpaste, next to the cup
Brush head on right side facing me
I reach for the first bottle
Propranalol: take two twice a day
I reach for the second bottle
Omeprazole: take one once a day
Placing three pills on the second shelf
I grab the glass and turn on the cold water faucet
Fill glass half way, pop pills, drink just one gulp of water
Dump the rest out
Drying off the cup so it doesn’t leave a ring I place it on the shelf
To the right of the toothpaste, with the blue toothbrush head to the right facing me
Sighing, I close the door, completing my daily routine
Looking into the mirror I am confronted with dark curls
Dark, almost black, eyes staring back from the big reservoirs they are hosted in
Inspecting my teeth and return to my eyes’ reflection
Staring at myself, running confidence boosting lines through my head as I was taught
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the twist of each morning curl
Turning around on the purple mat just big enough for two pairs of feet to stand on
One pair stands
Light switch flips and only the morning sunlight enters the bathroom
Streaming one ray through the window and spotlighting all the dust specks
I turn to the left, walk past the toilet; hesitate slightly at the change of floor
White to dark oak
First step into hallway followed by many
Bare feet making the daily walk.

Preview Time!

So, since I am unemployed and have nothing to do all day/night aside from dealing with my schooling, I have been writing. Now, I have never in my life felt a pull to write like I do now. One day in Italy I had a writing idea and I decided to go with it. This is taking me forever because I can actually see, clearly, what I am writing about and I have tried my hardest to put in as much detail as I possibly can. My protagonist is an old woman at the end of her life and what I am writing is slowly evolving into her life story, which flashes back and forth between past and present. Now, I have one problem: I want this story set in a foreign country, not the states, and I'm not sure how to use some language without actually defining which country she is from. For instance: If I was basing this in the states I would say mom, mother, mama, etc. But for another country? I don't want Mum. Ideas?

I.
She kneels in glow of the candle light that flickers across the aged walls with peeling paint, the virgin, the son, and the cross. In the shadowy creases of her wrinkled face, years of wisdom and wrong doings leak out of every pore, filling the rough and used pews and ancient hymn books with confessions of mistakes. Arthritic hands grasp each other as knuckles turn white and the lips- dry and cracked- rustle against each other as whispered words quickly leave her mouth, pushed out by the lash of her tongue. Silvery hair with touches of black hangs on either side of a long and narrow face, disheveled and wind-blown on a no-wind night. Eyelids closed so tightly they wrinkle and the eyeballs underneath can be seen darting back and forth as if reading a line of confessions that spew from her mouth. A sudden gasp of air, eyes snap open and pierce the dark touched by candle light with eyes the color of ice- blind, but seeing. Shudders escape her and the tiny frail body shakes. Collapsing at the altar, she stares into darkness, into blind faith.

II.
She stands up feeling the joints in her knees start to move, groaning from the pain, the joints bracing themselves for the weight of the frail woman’s body. As her back straightens and her hand instantly and instinctively reaches around to grasp her lower back, her other hand adjusts her dark shawl- velvet?- and she turns. As she crosses herself during her first few steps away from the altar, she pauses and turns around. Bending her head towards the virgin, she slowly raises her eyes, brow furrowed, and a single tear falls from the outside corner of her eye, soon followed by many more. One weak, unsteady step after the other, using the pews as her canes, she makes her way towards the door. Tears stream down her wrinkled and weathered face; as they drip, hands as old as the Church grasp the pew backs- blue veins creating maps of her life cover her hands and knuckles protrude from the almost transparent skin. As she makes her way towards me, the door, she stops at the last pew, straightens, and walks towards me, a look of sadness, cool reserve, and time lost covering her once beautiful face.

III.
The cold of her fingertips as they brush against the outside of my cold, hard, yet embracing wood would send shivers up and down each crack and each sliver of me if I could shiver. I can almost feel the rigidness and hardened shell she puts on as she enters the world of hardship and suffering, leaving the safety of the Church. With the brush of those fingertips is the loss of hope and trust and faith left behind, one last time. She stops just short of the first step and pulls the dark shawl tighter around her frail body, ties a dark gray veil around her head, and braces with the little bit of strength left, her against the wind. The last day of summer passed long ago, taking with it the greens and sunny skies, leaving in its wake instead the reds and oranges and browns, the clouds, and the cool days. Her first step onto the stairs is unsteady, staggering, weak. But as each step is taken, the veiled head slowly rises, the slender, slightly crooked with time shoulders pull back, and by the last step just before the sidewalk lined with gas lamps shining small circles of yellowish light on the cobblestone streets, she has pulled all her remaining strength from the depths inside of her ancient and stolen body. She turns to the right and slowly makes her way down the uneven sidewalk, looking up only once when a gentleman walks by and tips his hat her way.

***
“Mama! Mama! Look at what I caught, Mama! Look! A firefly. Isn’t it beautiful, Mama?”
“Hush, child. The baby is sleeping. Now run along with your little lighted bugs, do not bother me with such insolent things. Go!”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Slowly making her way out of what was once a happy room for both her and her mother, the child’s face is rigid and cold, steeled against any emotion. As soon as she closes the heavy wooden door with a click she lets her tears fall. As tiny tanned fingers with nails outlined in a few days’ dirt quickly and harshly rub the almond shaped brown eyes, a tight curl of black hair falls out of place. Frustrated with the new baby, hatred boiling inside of her, the young child feels a tinge of guilt and once she is outside the rickety old house with a slanted roof and missing floorboards, dust and the musky smell of time are behind her, she falls to her knees in the dirt, a little cloud of dust lightly jumping into the air around her torn woolen skirt. Praying to the Father to forgive for her hatred of an innocent child that does not know better, the child allows herself to ask for one selfish favor: “Please Father, let my mother love me once again.” Standing up and dusting off what little dirt she can from the woven fabric, the little girl runs out into the prairie which surrounds her little shack. With wind blowing and the moon shining brightly above her, the child forgets her rough life for just a few moments and enjoys the feel of the breeze as it lightly caresses her untamed, curly hair, pulling more curls loose of the braid she daily wore.

***

Whover Said Applying for Scholarships Was Easy Was So Wrong

I recently was accepted into Scuola Lorenzo de'Medici in Florence, Italy. I will be studying the Italian language and taking two courses - Travel Writing and The Age of the Heroes: Iliad, Odyssey, Aeneid, and the Origin of Western Literature. I'm really excited for my classes and to be back in Italy. Since I will not be living on campus at my current university in Wisconsin, I have lost almost half the financial aid I normally get. I am not someone who comes from a background of a lot of money, nor do my parents pay for my schooling. I am a scholarship student and I only usually take out two loans totaling only $7,000 a year. I do not have a job as the economy sucks and its even worse for college students. Jobs are available, but no one wants to hire a college student for only two months when they can hire an unemployed mother/father who has mouths to feed and bills to pay. Don't get me wrong, I think those people deserve a job more than I do, however it would be nice for someone to hire me, even if it is just a few hours a day. Today I have been online searching for scholarships since 2pm. It is now 5pm. I have found nothing. No scholarships from my school, no scholarships for English majors studying abroad, no grants. Where is all this money that is available? I'm starting to get very angry and very annoyed. I have two weeks to come up with $650 for a deposit and two months to come up with $15,000 for tuition, not to mention at least $5-6,000 for misc. expenses. I'm becoming worried that my dream of studying abroad is about to slip right through my fingers.