Dear Rekindled Passions,

Life has no meaning without you; I’ve spent my time with distractions that have left me unfulfilled.

Searching for the feeling with money, I acquired bills. With you, time has suspended.

One day it’s dancing, then maybe you’ll take me out for pottery. I’m on my toes; sometimes its spontaneous, other days we’re uninspired. Reminding me I can i’m In love with life, but dedication to one thing we can grow into.

What I love most is our creations, listening to ideas and making them become real.

There are no rules other than showing up to be committed.

What I’d like to share with the world is this is for everyone, love that is everlasting. No amount of goals, money, people, or things can take its place.

It’s free fuel that can go for days, passions mend the broken hearts, the emptiness that disguises as hunger, and ground mental anguish.

A priceless love and gift.<3

Permission Slip

Style score 68%

One thing that has never changed is my unconditional love for you. Netflix, Hulu, Max, Peacock, Disney, and whatever other platforms pop up have millions of you to select from and it’s so extensive that the average human takes longer to choose which one of you to watch than actually watch you. 

How do I explain how much you affect my life without ever having to leave my home? You make me upset, happy, hungry, and even devastated. You can make me laugh so hard I sound like a whistling teakettle. You can make the ache in my hands of seeing someone fall apart hurt so much it swells to my heart. You can make me feel like I’m falling in love for the first time, give me an epiphany of what I will become one day, and the possible career I want to pursue one day. 

You make me hate someone so much I would think that a fictional person betrayed me, threatened my family, and intentionally ruined my life. You can make me look at this thing called life in the eye and take on storms and in the next moment make me want to crawl out of my skin seeing blood, violence, torture and all the ugliness in this world. You could turn around and make me realize what’s missing in my life. Is it true friends, a life partner, marriage, kids? 

What else can bring back potent, strong feelings of nostalgia and bring memories within memories, flashbacks within flashbacks? What has a vast history of existing, of advancing over time? What has been a part of history dated as far back as worlds created in black and white? You have created new concepts in this world and have continued origin concepts. 

What are you that you can do all this while I sit in my living room, or in a large dark room with plush seats and goosebumps rising on my arms as the lights are dimming and the screen expands? Nicole Kidman appearing in her expensive shiny silver suit about to transport me into the screen or sitting in a car with the seat reclined making sure the radio is tuned to the right station so the words will follow what the mouths of the characters are saying. 

What can commemorate a first date, a first breakup, making love for the first time, having your first fight, your first memories of your first child or children, of your first loss, of committing to the love of your life, your first fight with your best friend, the last fight with your best friend?

I need to tell you that you’ve been there for me even before I had my first memories on this earth. My mother told me the first time I watched one of your own was the Lion King. The original, animated, colorful, singing hyenas version. She said it was the first time I stayed still in her stomach all day while she sat in a dark room and the large screen played in front of her. 

You are what created the connection to my grandmother. My sweet Abuelita was forced to watch the Lion King every single day at one point, and it made me love her just because of the simple fact that even though she only spoke Spanish and didn’t understand any of the English the animals were speaking, her granddaughter was happy and that was enough for her. 

I remember the first time I saw one of your kind without parental supervision was You Got Served. I was there winning the dance battle with them. I was there when Little Saint died because the young men who were supposed to care about him were too busy being mad at the wrong people. I remember watching Roll Bounce and begging my mom right after watching you to get me roller skates so I can do a triple spin on wheels. 

The relationship I have with my dad was saved because of our mutual love for you. It’s what helped us get to know each other and connect. You have helped me connect with the people I’m close to in my life. The only way I feel like I can thank you is to continue to link my memories to more of you. Thank you for making me cry, happy, sad, and sometimes shed all kinds of tears, making me feel the million forms of happiness that other human beings feel, making me scared, sometimes angry and everything in between. All I can say now is until next time when I get to see you on a screen and for you to always know that I love you. 

Dear 70s Era,

As I reflect on all the things you ushered in, I realize there will never be another era like you in any other lifetime.

I love you for the way you created a pathway for the African American community to thrive in.

You helped define our style and creativity. You allowed us to be our authentic selves.

Passionate, Loud, Black and Proud.
From our unique hand shakes to the textures of our hair that were worn in cornrows, afros, and dreads.

I believe the 70s understood the assignment of equality. There was room for all ethnicities who had different cultural backgrounds.

The 70s brought us all together through Love (God is love).

Yes, hatred and division took jabs, but there were few.

You embraced us, where some who were “not like us” shunned away as if we didn’t belong.

I would be amiss if I didn’t say how much I miss you.

I will always be thankful for the memories.

Style Score 100

Hello, darling –

It was a night filled with shadows hiding around every corner, of which I came and went, and built into the soul I fall into step with every day. I don’t know where I’d be without you, my shadows, my darkness. You built something so profound within me and it is understanding. I understand that, which I would never know if not for you and the trials you pushed and pulled me into. But, you didn’t just kick the bucket and run, you stayed. You decided I was worth waiting through the pirouettes of agony in all I would go through in this life. Light will leave, but darkness never does, for even in the sun, you can still see the shadows. My remarkable darkness, I don’t know how I can thank you for all you’ve given me. Your essence is sewn into every thread of my life’s work, and the impression you’ve made on my view of existence is evident. You’re not something to simply run from, be scared of, no… you are life-giving in your own right. You’ve shown me the worst there is in myself and the likes of others. I found gratitude in the knowing and the honesty. If we aren’t honest with ourselves, who can we be honest with? I’ve whispered some of my worst fears under the veil of night, breath shaking and heart breaking. You stayed. You heard me, saw me, and stayed to comfort a soul worn down by the world that holds it. Darkness always came first even if we tried to ignore it. Don’t you recall, “let there be light”? What would the world be before the light exploded upon it? Darkness. Unadulterated, unfiltered darkness. What a thing it is to see other living things run toward the light, grow toward the light, desire to become one with the light, when the dark offers so much comfort to all that steps into it. You see flowers and branches growing toward the sun while I dance under the moonlight. You’ve offered such a beautiful companionship, my darkness.
There will never be enough time or words to express what you have meant and always will mean to me.

Yours truly and forever,
the vault of which you escaped so epically

Lifting beats and melodies like organized crime
Sifting through grime to illustrate life and times
Lines and rhymes, breaking down enzymes
To wit- meaning to spit, mumblin ain’t shit.
Full of grit: giving and taking some hits.
The message runs deeper than the river Thames.
Dropping their knowledge like precious gems
Giving strength for the struggle, energy for the hustle
Tips for the tussles, all in my car – on shuffle.
Rhythm and Poetry, Rhythm and Poetry

Cruising around the block in my Honda Fit
Regulating soundwaves with old school hits You feel the bass blaring up and down the street.
Music aids my focus, makes life complete.
All day with my headphones on, I’m lost in the beat.
Looking for some paper, gotta find a sheet
To write down some verses and spark that heat
While spitting words uplifting, I’m regifting
Stray ideas sifting; minds been drifting
To rhythm and poetry, rhythm and poetry

To My Greatest Confinement and My Worst Exploration

An intense feeling of deep affection—that’s love. And what I feel for you, my wheelchair, is nothing short of that.

It was love when I was seven, stubbornly insisting on glow-in-the-dark wheels as if that would make you more than what you were. It was love when you got misplaced on my flight to Saudi Arabia, and I sobbed for two hours, feeling lost without you. It was love when my mom told me it was time to let you go, and I resisted, unwilling to part with something that had become an extension of myself.

I can write about anything—grief, longing, fear—but love has always been a struggle. I’ve devoured romance novels, cried through The Notebook, studied love in fiction like it was a science, yet I still fumble with it in my own life. I sabotage relationships, leave at the first sign of trouble, push people away before they get the chance to do it first. But you? You are my constant, the best relationship I have ever known. In a million lifetimes, I could never repay you. And that’s the beautiful thing about love—it doesn’t have to be logical, doesn’t have to be reciprocated or even recognized. It just has to be. It has to exist in this world alongside every other woe.

It’s strange, isn’t it? Loving the very thing that confines me. But you’ve also given me freedom. Every solo trip this past year, every late-night supermarket run, every impulsive decision to roll through unfamiliar streets—you were with me when no one else was. And when I was depressed, you carried that weight too. Two flat tires, chipped black paint, a broken handlebar—you reflected my neglect, my ambivalence, my inability to care for myself, let alone you.

I think about how, for years, walking was my dream, how I measured my worth in steps I could never take. But my dreams have shifted. Now, they are built around the life I live in this chair.

Ten years together, and now, with my thighs pressing into this 26-inch seat, I know it might be time for something new. But before that happens, before you’re replaced or retired, I need you to know: even in the moments I took you for granted, even when I wasn’t always grateful—I loved you.

To the one who knows me intimately, who is always beneath me, always on my ass—this one’s for you.

Dear Peace,
I haven’t known you very well my entire life. I started to get to know you once I entered my forties. As a child, I only knew tolerance and ignorance. I wasn’t aware that people could know peace. Know you. My childhood was filled with emotional neglect, physical abuse, and simply surviving. With the mask of “childhood bliss” that was not truly there. So to not know what you were, meant to walk blindly. I was never celebrated…only tolerated. This went on into my teen hood. The male counterpart was introduced to my life. I allowed several young men into my space. Every last one of them mistreated me. And I kept chasing after them regardless. At my age now, it makes no sense that I’d chase uncomfortable chaos. But I did for many, many years. Before my eyes were opened, I thought that human companionship was the answer to my happiness. But after so many heavy trials, I learned that humans were dangerous to put so much of my love into. And then I found you. ‘Peace’ in English. ‘Shalom’ in Hebrew. ‘Salaam’ in Arabic. It didn’t matter the language. You were what I needed the entire time. I can’t see you, but I can feel you all around me now. I would trade extreme wealth for you peace. My trusted companion that never hurts me and never deserts me. Why? Because I have the choice to have you in my life. Peace costs nothing. So I can be in poverty and still enjoy you. Peace can encompass anything. You are the ultimate wish fulfillment. I’m sorry that I didn’t find you earlier in my life. But you are what makes me know that the timing is OK. I don’t have all of the material things that I desire in life. But you give me contentedness with what I do have. I’ve never loved anything more than I love you peace. You make me smile when my tumultuous circumstances weigh my back down. If I could, I would wrap you up in pastel gift wrapping and give you to every individual in the world. But I cannot. And that’s fine with me. And that’s what having you means. No one can steal you from me unless I allow them to. And I never allow that anymore. You are forever my prized possession. I will hold on firm to you until I leave this life.

Sincerely yours,

My Love for Writing is My Zen

My paper, The pen.
My love for writing is my Zen.
My pen, my paper.
My pencil, my eraser.
My keyboard, my keypad.
The things I do and don’t have.
My thoughts are internal.
My physical and digital journal.
My love for writing is cathartic.
It truly brings me through the hardship.
The blank paper, the pencils led.
My love for writing is my Zen.
The single and double lines.
Writing brings peace in my mind.
Thank you to my loyal friend.
My love for writing is my Zen.

Some say that you’re hollow. That you’re nothing more than a man made shell of wood and wires thrown together by machines and unknown faces miles away from us. That you’re a thing, indifferent to whatever comes your way, and it’s not worth wondering how you’re holding up. But we both know that’s not true.

We both know that there are so many things to love about you.

It starts with your beautiful body, curved to perfection. Firm and smooth, ready for action. Present in your place, sitting on your stand, just waiting for someone to come along and spend some time with you. You don’t care if it’s for five minutes or an hour. You spread so much joy just with one glance, one pluck against your frets, one moment of musical pleasure.

You say so much, whether silent or soundful, for there are so many memories laid with your inlays.

The salty smell of the ocean as you strummed “Hotel California.”

The whiff of cigarettes after playing Billy Joel’s hit in bars.

The crackle of campfires accompanying your rousing round of “Wagon Wheel.”

But above all else, it’s your neck I love the most. Your dark, strong neck that supports your strings. Never wavering, holding firm each time my fingers press against you, cool to the touch. The neck that never disappoints, that’s as constant as the music you’ve made. The neck that when I hugged it, made me feel his presence, although he would never play you again.

I think about the times he picked you up, even when his hands were weak and aching. The times you made him smile and hope for better days, even when the pills had drained him of his spirit. The times he shared you with me, teaching me the songs he loved, helping me play the ones I didn’t know, and harmonising with my voice. I think about the love you held for him and wonder, can you spare that love for me?

Can you be the thing that makes me smile, even when all I want to do is cry? Can you be the thing that gives me strength, even as I feel the ground slipping out from under me? Can you be the thing that lets me know he’s still here, even when it feels like he’s a world away?

I ask these questions, but I know the answers. I know there is no need to doubt.

Like a father’s love, you will be there. Just like he was there for me.

I love you, dear guitar.

Dear Fortress, I write to you from the quietest corner of my heart, a space only you and I truly know.

Within your walls, the noise of the world fades, replaced by the gentle echo of my own thoughts. It’s a sound that resonates deep within, a profound melody that guides me back to myself.

They see an empty room, a lonely space, but I see a universe contained within these walls. Like the pages of a beloved book, my thoughts unfold, revealing stories and insights I never knew existed.

Here, in your stillness, I learn to observe my emotions without judgment, watching them rise and fall like the tides. There’s no need to rush, no need to hide, for in your presence, I am free to be myself.

You are my silent stream of strength, Fortress, a place where I can retreat from the chaos of the world and reconnect with my inner peace.

You are the place where I find the stillness that others can not. Like the feeling of being within the pages of a good book, you surround me with peace.

Thank you, Fortress, for being my constant refuge, my anchor in the storm. I leave your presence feeling renewed, my spirit strengthened by the quiet power I have found within your walls.

I see you-
Long lost loves,
The preciousness of life;
Snapshots of moments-
Now, too long ago.
The more love lost,
heavier do they seem.
Grief sits neatly in them,
For this I am grateful-
Storage full of levity.
I fall in love over and over-
With labels and dates,
Mostly incorrect now…
I was never meant to be keeper of the boxes.
They gawk at me from the corner,
As they have more of my life,
My love inside of them-
My life turned tangible.
Stacking up precariously,
Carrying the love and weight-
Of long ago,
Bankers boxes; folding much-
Origami and cardboard cuts.

They hold my heart and soul,
Memories so near,
in a whiff – the boxes-
Take me back in years.
One small glance,
Transports me to the past.
Leaning on filing cabinets,
Organizing myself neatly.
Of bankers boxes and love,
weight of memories long ago-
weight of generations I didn’t know-
the love in those folds,
the love seen- that I didn’t know.

The more love lost-
The more bliss they own.
Containing my world,
The love that made me-
Stored in a container.
Love is in every fold,
Through every mislabeled decade,
You continue to hold.

I love your strength.
I love how you compartmentalize.
I love how there is one of you,
That’s always the right size-
For mistakes and memories,
For life and love lost,
Oh, Origami cardboard of old,

I love you, bankers boxes.

My Dearest,
You’ve taught me to love beyond what I thought possible, to care deeply with gentleness, and to consider another before myself. In your neediness, I knew I was needed. I pray I will always treat you tenderly, never causing you to be any less than what God has intended you to be. When I fall short, your undeserved forgiveness pierces my soul, reminding me that your response is not based solely on my perfection but equally on your acceptance of my loving care. You have strength without me, but we are stronger as we grow together. I am honored by your selfless gift of life, filling my day with color and beauty as you share a sense of joy, newness, and hope. I see you in the kiss of the sunlight and watch as a light breeze softly touches and moves you.
I am moved to protect you from harm, to remove obstacles and imperfections, allowing the glow of your beauty to be unharnessed. You trust me. You welcome my tender care. You respond.
As the sun drops into darkness, I dream of you and pray you will be safe while I slumber. Morning finds me anxious again for you, with hope that your rest brought yet more fullness to your very existence. But I know you will go. You must go. The briefness of your stay causes my heart to hold tighter, longer, embracing each moment I have with you. And then…slowly, painfully, you fade away, despite my gentle encouragement to stay awhile longer. You cannot stay. I do accept this. Each time, I accept this as a natural, expected part of our sweet relationship. You must move on. The memory of your beauty intricately mingles with my longing for your return. My senses are heightened in the memory of your uniqueness and the fragrance and soft elegance of your presence. And I wait. And wait. Patiently, through the seasons, with anticipation, I await your return.
You always return.
You are my daffodils, the delightful blossoms of my life, and I will forever love you.
Your devoted gardener,
Suzi

ENTRY for the contest: Write a love letter to something, not someone.
By Suzanne Peppers – February 28, 2025
Typewriter4good@gmail.com * 916-201-4520

My Dearest Love,
I have missed you the entirety of this excruciatingly long day. I count down the hours until I can hold you in my hands. The thought of being cuddled up on my brown leather sofa under a blanket and tuning the world out to absorb you has me racing to get home to you. There is nothing in this entire universe that could ever keep us apart.
Your beautiful outside layers draw me in with every look. Sometimes you are worn down and other times you have never been touched by another. I do not care, either way, I am still madly in love with you. You draw me in like a moth to a flame, and sometimes I struggle to put you down.
Even now, when you are at home, and I am away, I can smell your scent. The memory of freshly cut paper and a subtle inky aroma fills my nostrils. But then, I remember the musty, earth like scent that reminds me that others have held you before. I love every scent that you give off and wish to be always enveloped within that scent.
As I open you up you tell me the most beautiful story, and I fall more in love with you the longer that I sit with you in my hands. I remember the tale of dragons and love you told me last week that had me on the edge of my seat. I love embarking on new adventures with you. You transport me to worlds unknown, where fantastical creatures roam and love stories unfold in the most unexpected ways.
Even in solitude, you provide companionship. The cozy afternoons spent curled up with you in a sunbeam are moments I treasure. I find comfort in your familiarity; the spine that once crackled under my fingertips reminds me of countless adventures we’ve shared.
As I read you over and over, please know that my affection for you only deepens. You are timeless, and the bond we share is one I hope to never lose. You are everything that I could ever hope and dream for in a book. Beautiful on both the outside and inside, no matter what version I get of you. I am enticed forever in your warmth, comfort, and adventure. I will never take you for granted.
With all my heart,
Taylor Parks

My Dearest Imagination,
How odd to say my dearest, as you are my only imagination. You’re my only in most regards. You were my only friend before I went to school and my sister left me behind. I got so jealous of her, going off into some great unknown, beyond the big white door. Somewhere she got to meet people and learn things and play games, while I was stuck on my side of the door. I wouldn’t have made it through those long hours separated from her without you.
Remember we would traverse though the haunted dark forest (under the dining room table) with the trees (the legs of the chairs and table) obscuring the view of the evil Winter Queen trying to cast her spell of the cold slumber (my mom putting me down for a nap). Or how about when I finally got to school and none of the other children wanted to play with me, for reasons that were so silly but at the time caused me the greatest sorrows. I was smaller than the other kids, and younger, by a year in most cases. I had ugly mousey brown hair and big doe eyes. Then I had the audacity of being left-handed! No, the other kids wanted nothing to do with me after they found that out. But it was okay, I was okay. You were there, holding my hand through it all. We would sit in the back of the classroom and make up stories about the teacher being a great wizard, with tomes of knowledge she was trying to preserve. She couldn’t let anyone forget the ancient wisdom of her people lest the Kingdom she came from would truly be gone then and history is doomed to repeat itself if we don’t remember. Yes, you convinced me my teacher was trying to save our world from the forces of evil by sharing her knowledge. I guess in a way you were right.
When I moved on to elementary school and into a new building, I was so excited. It looked like a castle. It was so tall, the tallest building I have ever been in! With stone stairs and ancient wooden floors that groaned about being stepped on. The huge windows would rattle against the wind, but they never wavered in their fight against the elements. The radiator would sing to warm us all in the winter and even the walls seemed to whisper their excitement in being filled. It was there that I made my first friend. She was beautiful. She had long dark brown hair, with bows in it. Her dark eyes were like a starless sky, holding mystery and reflecting wonder. She was the first person who said they loved hearing me talk. I admit it now Imagination, I was terrified I would have nothing worthwhile to speak about. So, I stole from you. All those stories you told me about enchanting princesses and evil queens. I regaled her stories of soldiers of an ancient starlit war, before the sun was made, who bound themselves to each other that they should find the other in every life and fight their enemy side by side until all that was left of the Evil one was song and story. I believed we were those soldiers reincarnated, as I felt with her, I could take one the world. It was then that I introduced you to her and it turned out that she had her own Imagination to share. I believe the two of you became more inseparable than the two of us, as we were still bound by body and rules, were the two of you would dance and mingle over us and grow until nothing would contain you. I fell in love with her, and you did with her Imagination, didn’t you?
I am sorry, Imagination. I haven’t spoken to you in some time. She and I haven’t talked in a few years, and you help me through that. That must have been hard, since I know you and her imagination still dance together, we would never separate the two of you. It was true love. It was beautiful. You made it so. You stood by me through everything. And I’m sorry I must ask you to do it again.
The Evil One has returned, they go by a different name now, trying to hide in my own mind. I won’t ask her to fight alongside me again. I know she can’t. We’ve become our own enemies to each other. But if I told you Evil One’s new name, perhaps you can be better prepared for them? They go by Depression now, Imagination. If they get me, please fight on.

Upon our first meeting, I was confused.
As we became aquatinted, I tried to refuse.
I began to barter and make up excuses.
I’ve been hurt before, I bear some bruises.
Though you are relentless, you never give in.
You heal me to a point deeper than skin.
Truth is you’re reckless, which I can commend.
Because when Im broken, it’s my soul you mend.
You come with both, the highs and the lows.
With every lesson, I was able to grow.
There are moments of bliss, there are moments of peace.
There are times of uncertainty, there are feelings that cease.
Through all of the ups and all of the downs.
I continue to search you and seek you out.
I guess I’m obsessed. I can’t get enough.
What can I say? I’m just a girl who loves love.

My dearest friend. I have no idea how I would have made this journey of life thus far without you. You flood my heart, mind, and soul with love, understanding, encouragement, power, and compassion. The voicings you share draw me to worship, to live, to move forward no matter my circumstances. Flooding me with these wonderful things helps me pour into to others. I was born with you flowing through my veins. I have shared you with every single person I have encountered on this journey of life. And, you will accompany me home when my life on earth comes to an end. Music, I have loved you since before I was born. Thank you for every single note.

Good Morning! I just wanted to write and tell you how wonderful it is to see you. You make all the difference in the world to me and, without any doubt, so many others. You rise to the occasion when you can. You share your brilliance and shine. You bring out the best in me and others. Your warmth is like a cozy cuddle, especially at those times when we all need one the most. I love basking in your light. I love looking up to you. Everything and everyone you surround feels brighter, happier, and even sillier at times.
My most favorite part of you is gloriously two-fold. When you rise in the morning, the beauty of you wakes up the world in the most magnificent and colorful ways with your shine that sparkles upon everything and brings smiles to us all. On the flipside of the two-fold, when you set in the evening, it’s almost like seeing the prettiest picture in the world. Dare I say it? Yes, I will! It feels sometimes like I’m in heaven. The way you magically bring out the colors of comfort and serenity and knowing there’s a goodnight’s sleep ahead as if floating on a cloud.
You truly are the biggest yellow ball of love in your beautiful burst of colors. You never, ever disappoint. You always bring something new each time you rise and set that is beyond both magical and enchanting.
Thank you, my sun, for letting me bask in your light. Thank you for your brilliant beams and rays of twinkling light you color across the sky and into my heart. Your presence is a present to us all!
Warmly,

Your winters—the soulless, cobbled walkways, the contorted fingers of bare trees which reach toward heaven. I love your winters, and the leaves which bleed between the cracks in your sidewalks. The sky is cold, but in your heart I cherish every love I share, dear college town.
A slow windchill claws down my spine. The blanched sun offers no relief. Your barren landscape reminds me of my stagnation—the way I’ve always struggled to move on. How can I allow myself to change? Your wind pulls me back from my wandering. My friends are out walking nearby, and I can hear their shiny laughter. Dear college town, your cold hands guide me toward a warmer love. Change will come with the seasons, but for now, I will cling to this moment.
Your springs—the green and earthy scents of rebirth permeate the air. Pansies overthrow dead grass in triumph. I love your springs, and the way your cherry blossom tree renews her yearly vows. So many new things flourish around me, so why do I feel left behind? Graduation is coming closer, and the world seems much too big for me. I fit right in your palm, dear college town. Will I ever be enough? But the fullness of your bloom infuses me with hope. Maybe it’s not too late for me to grow.
When I find myself overwhelmed, I often wander down to your oceans. Blue-jeweled waves whisk from the gulf, lapping at my ankles. Maybe the future will unfold like soft sea foam. Your watery inhale and exhale are reminders that destiny might come naturally, like breathing. Each day might be livable, one at a time. Your salt air, dear college town, speaks such truths to me.
Your autumns—the slow death of every bright thing, reduced to savory ashes of cardamom and nutmeg. I love your autumns, and the way your sparrows pick dry sticks for their nests. The clouds grow burdened with their own grayness, but I think I finally feel free. Unknown days lay ahead. But, I learn from your ladybugs on tender leaves, which wait for tomorrow in quiet solidarity. Fresh fall means a new start, dear college town—for you and me.
Sunset slips across the roofs of your shops and cafes. College students, back from break, bustle between the stores downtown. Peering through doorways, I am greeted by smiling strangers. How strange is the understanding between souls! I smile back. Beauty is everywhere, everywhere at once. The sun will set, and every eye will soon shine in the dark like stars in an intricate constellation. Dear college town, your loveliness works wonders in me. Let me love you before I go.

ProWritingAid Style Score = 100%