A Semester in Review

I’m going to start off by saying that this was hands-down, no-doubt the worst and hardest semester of my life. But I’m going to continue by saying that much of that has had to do with my selfish attitude, more than anything.

It seemed like everything I earnestly tried, I failed. Even the things I’d taken for granted that I’d obtain (Latin Club elections). So many things going wrong, that nearly every week there was a new crisis (I must sound so pathetic and self-absorbed right now; sorry). Each crisis would prompt a full-on crying session in Latin (1st period) or APUSH (8th), and if the latter, it’d usually continue into the car with Marika who has had to comfort and calm me too many times this semester. Continue reading


Today at Mission: Possible!…

A homeless man—fifty years old, friendly—I had interviewed on Sunday passed me this note.

Isabella (Bella) — Hi…

🙂 Hoping that my letter will surely find you in the best of spirits…

I deeply enjoyed the bit of time we shared together. I’m really looking forward to spending more precious moments with u. I didn’t make breakfast @ Mission Possible Monday. I spent it @ The Angel House. I refreshed with a cool shower and coffee and glazed-doughnut. mmm—good! I thought about U alot!!! Mostly our fascinating conversation. I am, convinced beyond a shadow- of a doubt incessantly, and physically attracted to U… I want to let you know. Consider me your Hero!

Next time we meet I want to look you in your beautiful eyes and give you a hug, a big–tight hug.

Most of all… I want to conversate with you, you have alot that I want to learn from you. And hope that a truly great relationship can aspire between us, you and me.

I would love to call you – Bella – like Bella in *Twilight*— and I want to keep it like I’m the only one who calls you Bella.

I can’t wait to see you!!!

&really miss you!


Continue reading

work in progress

It’s okay to cry: no
He tilted his skinny skates at 4pm: yes

(I sped glibly, it was thrumming slick-black except)
Do you remember, it’s been a month: no
It’s been 64 days and (I’m) counting until it’s my turn

(the gold flashing,)
glare at me paleface heave on that inky MASCara in wildlike jags burn it into your muscle and hair I swear it will help clutch me scream me wet my shoulder eyes
GOD I MISS HIM. Continue reading