Delicate whispers across soft skin
The even crest of a chest's waves
Dangling strands dancing in the wind
Wide orbs broadcasting secrets of the soul
...as they grasp a beating heart




Love is real.

Dear Jake,

Hey. I hope you are...alright. I just, want to write to you to...say a few things. Even though the two of us were not as close this year as we were last year, you being gone really...effects me. I honestly cannot take it in. I cannot believe that this actually is happening. I am not even one of your best friends, just a friend. I just...cannot believe this.

Last year...was really great working with you, hun. You have so much spirit. Do you remember when we basically taught the same age group and decided to teach together. We had races across the pool, calling out students the best. Do you remember when we would have competitions to see who could clockout last...just for the extra few cents.

It hurts me to see everyone so sad. It hurts me so much because we all cared so much about you. We all love you, still. When I see her walking around in your sweatshirt, it makes me want to cry and never stop. I cannot imagine how that must feel. I cannot believe you aren't here. Too young, too great. It is like the world has stopped for us to morn, but then again, outside of the high school, time must go on. We must move on. But we all don't want to.

Yes, I know that some would believe that you are in a better place, but I honestly hope so. I don't know how someone so young and strong could leave us. I hope you get this message and help us all in our mourning. Your humor, your spirit, your voice, your talent...it will always be around us and you will live on in our hearts.

I wish you didn't let me win, Jake. I wish you didn't clockout first. I wish you were still here.

Rest in peace, friend.

Alyssa.




Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

--Macbeth, Act V, scene v

"Who are you to judge the way I live? I know I'm not perfect--and I don't live to be. But before you start pointing fingers, make sure your hands are clean."

-Bob Marley

A room, walls coated with dirt, grease. Tables fit everywhere, creating a maze, broken every few feet by a chair. People, everywhere. Talking, laughing, eating. The diner was full of faces...all different types of faces. Happy ones, old ones, shinny ones, pale ones, young ones, ugly ones, beautiful ones. There were aged men, whose wrinkles could tell the history of the world and there were young children, barely able to comprehend the idea of tomorrow. Everyone occupied, paying attention to their own life, seeing their own life.

The middle of the room is...like another world. A circle is formed with the tables and in the middle is a stool. On the stool is a man and his guitar. He plays a song...he sings and plays. The song is a beautiful craft fitted together with words to create a masterpiece.

His eyes are closed...and there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He sings to himself, unaware of the life that is going on outside of his mind. He plays his guitar with beauty and pain, hearing his song, feeling his song. Around him, chaos...and beauty. Life is beautiful. The people in the diner barely listen to the song; they are so wrapped up in their meal, be it lunch or dinner. As the song comes to a close, the man finally opens his eyes, scans the room, and smiles to himself. It is a secret smile, meaning so much to one man, and nothing to everyone around. When the song finishes, some tune into the atmosphere around them and clap, some give a little cheer. But, in the end, the man and his song exist for each other, creating beauty and sadness...it's all the same.

Today, a lady came into Giant and I was checking her out. She looked at my name tag, then my face, then my name again. She smiled and then looked me straight in the eyes and said, "All I have to say is, follow your passion and pursue your art."

It turns out that she has seen me working in school in art class.

No stranger has ever said something so nice to me like that. It half gives me inspiration. And it half makes me want to just, smile.

I don't have any of my school stuff or real artwork on here, but once I find a way to get it up, be it scanning or taking a picture of it, I will.

You never know if your words will bring up a stranger's day. Little did this nice lady know, but I was having a really bad day, and once she said that, my day looked a little brighter.