She was a tree, frozen in time with a spine that once stood tall like bark. But she succumbed under harsh winds, bending in defeat, bowing to the enemy, hunched and ready to snap. She was a bear, with a coat too light for the cold. So she hid away at the first sign of snowflakes in a nice cold cave with only echoes to keep her company. The cavern walls protected her from the world,
but kept her from exploring it. She was a flower, wilted by the weight of snow. Her petals curled up, vibrant shades crumbling into colors as dark as the sky without sun. She was fragile, terrified, vulnerable. She was stuck in an eternal winter that was causing her decay. The harmonious bird song every day was her wake up call to wage a war on the cold. Tweets that delivered directions to a better place, gave birth to new beginnings. So she migrated towards a land where she could control the clouds, and fall in love with the way the sun kisses her cheek and vowed to never return to frost. She melted the ice from her shoulders with steadfast determination. She gained the strength to be unwavering against all forces, learned how to stretch out her branches without worrying about how much room she took up. Now she is spring.
Nausea (known to me as butterflies), shortness of breath, sweaty palms (that you never mind holding), and an accelerated heartbeat. These are defined as symptoms of love, but they are also signs of a panic attack. I find that quite fitting since I’m terrified of loving you. While I’ve always admired the view of firework kisses and star crossed lovers who find each other despite the darkness, That’s not the life I desire for sparks only last a minute. True love kisses are deadly and I don’t want to become another tragedy Insomnia (losing sleep with the idea of losing you), neglecting other responsibilities, risk taking (always in alleys after midnight), and obsession. These are defined as symptoms of infatuation but they are also signs of addiction, and I don’t think I could handle if you withdrew. I never wanted the space between your arms to feel like home cause if you evict me I won’t remember how to support myself. The way I mourn the loss of your touch and count down the seconds till you’ll return proves that I’m already hooked on the drug called love.
I forget to count my blessings, pay more attention to what’s not there, see the glass as half empty, complain that it’s not fair. I have a bad habit of underestimating the value of fortunes in front of me, paying no attention to their shine. Privileges lose their glamour because they seem immortal; Thanksgiving reminds me that everything can rust. It is an excuse to consume copious amounts of food and to put a spotlight on being grateful. Before the holiday I’d use my fingers to count off everything I felt was missing, forgetting I have a shelter to protect me from howling winds, shelves stocked with a variety of food, friends who are willing to hold my hand when it gets dark, a mom who believes love is worth the sacrifice, and a sister who will always be my company. Thanksgiving reminds me to praise my forgotten riches.
Autumn has clocked in taking shift, filling in for summer has no more heat strokes to give and winter winds haven’t gathered enough strength. The season is a teenager with frequent mood swings. From misty eyed mornings to bright smiles in the afternoon, the unpredictable weather leads to dress code confusion. Despite the temperamental forecast, it’s hard not to admire what fall has done. Long goes the green, as the fairies are busy painting leaves. Shades of brown, orange, and red are periodically speckled onto nature’s canvas. The wind is a tour guide, pulling the leaves from their branches, teaching them how to take flight. Fallen leaves can be found braided into hair, raked to make a bed, and crumbled under careless feet. Follow the leaf trails into the forest, see what paths you can forge alongside the woodland creatures, before winter’s touch destroys it.
Kellie-Ann Morris is a Freshman at Barbara Ingram School for the Arts