To betray me, the life we created, the family we made for a few nights of fun and attention is absolutely ridiculous. I hope you hurt as much as me. I had to leave everything behind and give up everything I put in because of you. I had to put my pride to the side so many times and in exchange all I’ve received is a dictionary book of lies. Don’t ever think I knew my worth by what I allowed. I just loved you and figured I could pull you out of the hole you dug in your head but instead our relationship was already dead. Have you ever tried to make things right even though you’re not the one who messed things up? Right when our lives were getting at its best, you stopped being the man I loved with no regrets. You made me feel safe and one day I didn’t. You made me feel like it was us against the world but now it’s just me and my children. You made me feel like no matter how much life thrown us pieces, that we were going to find a way to finish our puzzle. What went wrong? I still don’t know. I’m still shocked. I still can’t let go. I can’t let go of what you did and how you did it but at least I’m still going. One thing you’ve never had to do is to remind me how to be a mom but here I go reminding you of what a parent is capable is doing. Does that make sense to you? You went from playing “peek-a-boo” to never seeing you’re crew. Was it worth it? Are you happy now? I never thought being a single mother wild be so hard. It’s tough, it’s tiring, it’s very ghetto and I don’t recommend it. When daddy is wrong or not there, mommy has to answer all of the questions. So now I’m lying to them to make them feel good. You’re actually not sh.t and deserves your ass whooped. Growth is real and that’s the only reason why I haven’t did you the way you did us. Have fun while you can because karma is real and you deserve everything coming your way so I hope you’re ready to make lemonade.

Down… far away from the sight,
an enchanted forest escapes.
Do not ponder on the unite,
each comes in a multitude of shapes.
They take your hand
to show you the world.
Only to take away your land,
but you’ll be stuck in their magic, which is swirled.
Not your cup of tea?
You know you’re paying for their game.
DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT YOU SEE!
Unless you do… such a shame.
How can you move forward,
if you never listen to your word?

A place that truly had a meaningful impact on me and changed my life. I call it the Bowel Chapel. It was inside of a hospital where I worked. I entered it many time on my breaks, to relax and say a little prayer. Little did I know that someday, that it would leave a stain on my heart.

Before I began my horrific head-on collision with breast cancer, I was one of those nosey patients who didn’t want to wait until my MD gave me the results. I wanted to know now, not later. They are my results, why should I wait. No one will ever understand, until they go through it. The worst part of having cancer is waiting on those first results. The life that you knew, is ovcr. You’re in limbo. You can’t plan, you can no longer laugh and have fun, because you’re not sure how long it will.

One day at work I said to myself, it time. It’s time to find out for sure. I went to my computer to begin my search. I was on a mission. I was aware of the time limit it would take to obtain the results. Once I located them, I immediately wished that I hadn’t. Yet here I am, “I really have cancer”, now what? I totally froze. It was like a dream and I was going to wake up any minute now. This can’t be real. I began screaming inside, why God, why? Why would you do this to me? I depended on you. Through all the prayers that I had obliged you with previous these results. How could you let this happen?

I got up from my chair in a daze and began walking away from my desk, not knowing where I was going. I could hear voices around me, but yet I didn’t. I just knew I didn’t want to be around anyone . I needed to go somewhere to be angry, to hurt, cry and cuss God out loud and I wanted to do it alone. I landed on the first floor, not even remembering taking the elevator down. I kept walking with my head downward, not wanting to have eye contact with anyone. Didn’t want to have to fake a smile nor a greeting, nor did I want to receive one, because it wouldn’t be genuine. Why would it? God has not been genuine. He has totally let me down.

I got even angrier when I spoke of God. Were you not listening during my prayers? Are you truly there? Am I not your child? All of these years, I thought that you were the one thing I could depend on. That’s what I thought. Yes, I had my own personal relationship with God. Now, I’m not sure if he’s even real. How could he? I’m in a stage of hopelessness! As I was walking, I stopped for a moment to seek a bathroom or to find a way to exit the building so that I could go and cry out loud, shed all the tears I could in a hide-away place. I needed to let out the hurt.

As I began to seek an exit, I noticed that I had landed in front of the Bowels Chapel. Why, who knows? I definitely wasn’t going in there. I no longer believe in such. As I began to walk away, something made me turn back towards the chapel and I entered. I was glad to see that no one else was within. I didn’t want to cry in front of anyone nor did I want their pity.

I walked all the way to the front of the chapel and sat in one of the front pews. I sat and began to cry and pray out loud, and I continue downgrading God. Making sure I let him know how I felt. How disappointed I was in him. Suddenly as I’m crying I felt a strong presence, a strange feeling, one like no other. It was as if someone was sitting next to me. I was guided to kneel to my knees, I didn’t know why, but I did it. I began to cry and pray some more, but this time the crying was much harder, but different. It was if I was crying of joy, releasing all my tears. I suddenly heard those spoken words “You will be OK, trust and believe and everything will be OK”.

It was like someone was physically near me speaking, but there wasn’t. I got up from my knees, tears dried up and I began to realize what had just happened. My faith returned. From that day forward, I didn’t have another negative feeling concerning my journey through cancer. Yes, once in a while, I owld get sad, it’s normal, but I kept hearing those words. I carried them with me throughout my journey and I knew one thing for sure, I was going to be OK. My cancer journey didn’t start with my results, it truly began in that precious place, the Bowels Chapel. I was never alone!

Dear Bedroom,

You’re just a room, really. Four walls, a bed, a closet full of clothes. But to me, you are sacred ground. A place where heaven reached into earth and pulled me back from the edge. You don’t look like a sanctuary, but that’s exactly what you became.

I remember the way the light hit the walls that day. It was October 12, 2018. The air felt heavy, like even the atmosphere understood the battle raging inside me. I had reached the end—of my strength, my hope, my desire to keep trying. I had decided it was over.

No one knew what I was planning. I wore the mask well. I smiled when I had to. I said, “I’m fine” more times than I could count. But deep inside, I was unraveling. And that night, I truly believed the world would be better without me in it.

I sat on the edge of my bed, drowning in silence. The weight of my pain pressed against my chest like a thousand bricks. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I just wanted peace—or what I thought peace would be. But just as I was about to let go, something stopped me.

A stillness came over the room. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It wasn’t a voice from the clouds. It was a whisper—gentle, but undeniable.

“Stay.”

One word. One breath of God that broke through the noise in my mind.

And then, again, a little louder:

“I still have plans for you.”

I froze. My heart stilled for a moment. I had spent so long convinced I was forgotten by God—convinced He had nothing more to say to me. But in that moment, in the very place where I was ready to end it all, He showed up. Not with judgment. Not with anger. Just presence. Just love.

You, my bedroom, became an altar. A quiet, sacred space where the God of the universe reached into my mess and whispered life back into my bones. I didn’t get off that bed healed or whole—but I got off that bed still breathing. Still here. Still willing to try.

Since that night, you’ve seen it all. Tear-stained pillows. Journals filled with raw prayers and half-scribbled Bible verses. Worship songs played softly in the dark when I couldn’t sleep. You’ve held the weight of countless moments—relapses and recoveries, hope and heartbreak, growth and grief. And through it all, God kept meeting me here.

I’ve come to realize that sometimes the most holy places aren’t cathedrals or sanctuaries—they’re bedrooms. They’re quiet spaces where pain meets presence, where despair collides with grace. Places like you.

I’m still here. I’m still walking. Still healing. Still believing in the God who told me to stay.

Thank you for being the place where everything could’ve ended…
but instead, everything began again.

With all my heart,
Anoukha
(A life held together by grace)

Dear Unsealed,
Dear Surgeons and my Primary Doctor,
April 2022 marked a turning point in my life. My battle with COVID in January 2021 wasn’t just a fleeting illness—it lingered, wreaking havoc on my body long after the virus itself had passed.
One night, in unbearable pain, my roommate dropped me off at the ER at Riverside Community Hospital. The pain in my abdomen and throughout my body was excruciating, yet they left me suffering in the lobby. Struggling to breathe, I finally convinced them to let me lie down.
When a nurse finally took me back, I underwent countless invasive X-rays, each one adding to my discomfort. The results were alarming. My stomach was dangerously close to my heart, and my gallbladder was so infected that it had become gangrenous, leaking green bile into my abdomen. The doctor told me, in no uncertain terms, that without surgery, I would not survive.
The weekend passed in a blur as I lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to IVs, receiving hydration and antibiotics. Early Monday morning, they wheeled into a surgery that was a procedure that lasted for hours. When I awoke in my shared hospital room, a kind (and very handsome) nurse gently turned me, and through my pain, I joked, “You can turn me anytime.” The dude was alright!
Recovery was brutal. The pain was beyond anything I had ever experienced, a 25 on a scale of 1 to 10. I spent over a week in the hospital, and when the surgeon recommended rehab, I initially resisted. But once I realized how difficult even the smallest movements had become, I knew I needed help.
Before this, I had never undergone major surgery, save for two cesareans in the ‘80s and a broken finger surgery back in 1964. This experience changed my life completely. COVID was not just an illness, it was a cruel bacterial infection that ravaged my body.
When I finally returned home, I had new challenges. My body was weak, and the pain was relentless. I relied on a walker to move around, and even minor tasks, like preparing my liquid diet, felt monumental.
Before COVID, I walked eight miles a week. Now, walking to the mailbox and back feels like an achievement. The transformation was something I never could have prepared for. My diet had to change entirely. Gluten and lactose were my new norm, and worst of all, I had to say goodbye to red meat. No more In-N-Out burgers. It took two years of trial and error to figure out what I could eat without getting sick. Every grocery trip was a painstaking process, reading labels to avoid hours of misery.
Everything about my life from 2021 to now is unrecognizable. We, as human beings, are not invincible. Life is not just lollipops and ice cream. We are not gods. My lifestyle flipped 180 degrees because of circumstances I never saw coming.
In 2023, at the urging of my therapist, I returned to writing. It was a way to reclaim my mind, even when my body felt foreign to me. Adjusting to my new limitations was hard and accepting financial instability was even harder, but I push forward, even when the odds seem stacked against me.
I miss my long walks, my metro rides across Southern California. Losing them hurts my pride, my dignity, my sense of self. But life does not promise us roses without thorns, nor roads without pebbles.
And despite it all, I carry on.

ProWritingAid 100 percent

My dear Baton Rouge,

Baton Rouge, Louisiana my home, the place that raised me, and known as BR. I can classify you as a rare and unique place. It wasn’t easy by a long shot embracing the culture, struggles, and demographics that came with you. Despite my five-year absence, you still hold a grip on my heart. Visiting isn’t quite the same, but I can’t be without my family, the food, and raw culture that is you.

From introducing me to my first kiss, fight, girlfriend, job, and having my first car. I learned a lot about life that equipped me with a different outlook and way of thinking. During intense moments, I recall hating you and failing to grasp the overall situation. You taught me how to resist temptations of others and enticement of events. Going southern university homecoming every year were it always ended in tragedy. Going to the club every night and it being shutdown early because of foolishness. Attending may night at McKinley high or block parties on plank road. Introduced me to music from Boosie, Webbie, Kevin Gates, Fredo Bang, Tec, Lil Handy, and Youngboy. As I look back in a weird way, you prepared me for my adult journey without me knowing. Starting my military career, intimidation set in, but I relied on my Baton Rouge background. Growing up, having many fights and situations made me fearless. Losing an endless amount of family members and friends to death made me heartless. Amidst my lessons and tragedies, I pieced things together without resentment toward you. Crossing your city lines always puts me in a vulnerable but pride state. I acknowledge your huge contribution to my being a father, husband, and role model. I thank you for every situation that groomed me into the person I am today.

Sincerely,

Reese

94%

Like the old saying goes, “home is where the heart is”, its so very true.

But for me, its much deeper than that. Home is where ever your heart leads you to be, yes, but its more so about where you endured and overcame the most, to be to where you need to be or currently are. For me, its my city. The westside of Chicago, Ill to be exact.
Yeah I know, chicago has a very bad rep of being known for its violence, shootings, gangs and anything negitive (much like other places around the world as well), but to me, being born and raised here, I’ve always seen and appreciated my city for so much more.
For me, Chicago raised me. Taught me to be tough, survival, made me to be strong, strong minded at very aware of the people all around you. How to be dependant on no one but yourself, and to be okay with being alone because of the evil and cruel people out there. Its like I had to be hard, to not be soft because people would see it as a weakness. Bascially tought me how to have a edge to me, for me to understand how strong, book smart as well as street smart, I had to be in this cruel world.
Now, dont get me wrong. As hard as the city made me, by seeing all the violence and things around me, it made me as confident and aware that I could and would one day make it out. You see, what the media dont show is that yes chicago has alot of violence, but it also has alot of love, beautiful places and exciting advantures to embark on as well. There are so many amazing places that you can go like the lakefront, the beaches, and my favorite, the convervtory central park flower house, that you can go that brings you such peace, to appreciate the city for its beauty that you wouldnt know excisted if you did not visit these places for yourself. These places brougth out a diffent side to me that I didnt know was there. Aside that was very calm, loving, grateful, giving and just apprecitive for living in the moment. Never saw myslf as a nature girl but I am now. Love being one with nature, its peaceful. Brings out a softer version of me, one is more grounded and okay with letting go and letting things just ….flow. Chicago has always have been and always will be: My City…. my home.

I would like do an honorable mention to another place that I hold dear to my heart; good old Minniapolas, Minesota. Not only was my husband from there, but also it was where our first home was together. After getting married, my husband and I left chicago with only the cloths on our backs and all of the money that we had in our wallets at the time and decided to start over in a new city, a place that he was familiar with in his youngest and happiest years lol. Minesota also taught me alot. Taught me the will of surviual without material things and how to soully depend on The Most High above; because we were homless for a while and both started our spiritual journies that lead us to greater understandings of our selves as well as the world. Much like chicago had done for me, minesota also taught me strengths that I never knew I had. Taught me to push myself, after both my husband and I were able to become Superviors at our jobs shortly after working our jobs(a first for us both)also taught me to never be afraid of being different and to actually allow myself to be set free of material things that never has and never will matter anyway. As long as I had God, my husband, and myself, that to me was home. No matter where in the world I would end up, I learned that home really is where your heart is. Is your heart pure? Is it full of love, hate, uncertainty? Is your heart set on material things or set on eternal things above? For me, home was where I was, or am at the moment, but also where my greatest life lessons came from. For me, the best things in life were not taught to me from school, or even my parents…….was taught to me by The Most High first……then my self and my husband….. and of course my city. Great Chicago…….. And Minesota. Both places will always hold special places in my heart, and they both will forever be called, “my home”.

So my place that changed my life forever is the airport, I met a lady online and we became friends, and we talked for at least 4 to 8 hours a day or until the phones would disconnect, and after sending letters and pictures ( she made me guess which one she was ( I was able to) we had it planned for August 8th, I was going to pick her up from the airport after all she was coming from South Dakota and I was in South Carolina, I had told my boss about her and her panicked saying BE CAREFUL ( I DIDN’T care there was something about this Amazing young lady and I was LOOKING FORWARD to finally meeting her) The day came and I was Early and she flew in to the Gsp airport and was 10 minutes early, I told her to get back on the plane.When we met , WOW, and Time stood still, That moment August 8th, my life changed FOREVER, we have been married for 20 years together for 22 and Still going Strong.Im thankful she didn’t get back on the plane (: she may not have gotten off) She wouldn’t fly back home, Cause this is Where our story starts.My wife, my best friend, it all started with love at the Gsp

Well, here we are.

If I were to have a calendar in front of me, I would mark this time as one of two most dreaded days.

I remember some things so vividly, while more important things have somehow slipped away. I can’t remember your voice. 19 years.

I still carry around my emotional baggage, which holds my guilt, my fears, and my sorrow. We had so many good times…bad times too, of course, but I remember really only the good times.

So many stories, secrets, hopes and dreams, dashed away so quickly. I should have acted. I should have made time to go to the doctor with you. I should have demanded you be seen. The promise I made to you in the hospital room, as I hovered near your ear and played with your hair is still one that I hold to; though it has started fights and maybe handicapped him a bit, I continue to protect your son.

Oh, Amy, when he sings, and he thinks no one is listening, it is reminiscent of you. Not recording your voice is such a regret, but who could have known things would go so bad, so quickly.

I remember stupid things about the actual day, like the weather. On the day of your passing, it was beautiful. While friends stood next to you saying goodbye and weeping, I went and sat alone by the window. The sky had not one cloud in it. Your arrival in heaven was inviting. The day of your service, however, was cold…so cold, and rainy and gray. It seemed to match the occasion perfectly.

I miss you. Those words aren’t nearly as strong as the emotion behind them. I’m stuck in grief. I think of you and cry almost every day. I still want to pick up the phone to share some movie you’d like, or a random, “Do you remember when…”. Is there a phone in heaven?

In that hospital room, I whispered my promises in your ear. Did you hear them?

I am so proud being your sister. I pledge to make you that proud of me. And heaven better ready when my time comes…I desperately await our reunion.

I love you, my sister,

Dear Rehab,

When I met you, I wasn’t myself.

I came to you from the floor below,
still trembling —
from withdrawal, sleep-starved delusions,
or some bitter cocktail of both.
A fog so thick
I couldn’t tell the walls
from the weight pressing on my chest.

You were sterile and white,
like the hollow shell of a second chance.
I hated you.
I feared you.
And yet —
something in me stayed.

The first night, I tried to run.
My mind rebelled,
dragging my body with it,
until I landed alone
in a room meant for two.

Blanket draped like a shawl.
I wrapped myself in whatever warmth I could find.
That blanket became my armor.

My journal—my confessional.
Your little track—my ritual.
Forty-eight laps a day, chasing pieces of myself in circles.
Hoping they’d fit back together.

I hardly spoke at first.
But group cracked me wide open.
Especially when someone new arrived —
loud with rage or quiet with sorrow.
I recognized them.
We all did.
And it broke me.
Then, slowly, it rebuilt me.

I learned how to create again.
Beaded jewelry with trembling hands.
Scribbled thoughts like soft confessions.
Songs that clung to me like sunlight.
I wrote in my journal like it was scripture.
Your walls didn’t flinch
when I colored outside the lines.

You never asked me to be perfect.
Only honest.
Only present.

And in that presence,
I became someone new.

When I left you,
I felt like a child again —
fragile, raw, but holding something rare:
hope.

I didn’t want you.
I didn’t think I needed you.
But sometimes the most sacred places
are the ones we fight hardest to accept.

And now, when the world grows quiet,
I still hear you —
not your silence,
but the voices of every soul I met within you.

Their pain.
Their healing.
Their stories,
stitched into mine.

If I ever return,
let it be with open hands —
to offer what I once came seeking.

With Reverence,

(ProWritingAid Style Score 100%)

Stars and Stripes Gymnastics Academy,

You gave me a home outside of home. Somewhere I could release my anger and frustrations through power and strength. You taught me discipline and how great the reward can be when you stick to something and commit. Through you, I learned how to listen to what my body is asking for while also pushing the limits of what I think I can do with it. Because of you, I pushed through pain, building resilience against things that hurt me. You taught me that my mind is more powerful than anything else and that the mind controls the body. I learned just how incredible and strong my body can be when I don’t let my mind get in the way. I found friends, laughter, memories, and a place to release my inner child and my inner fire. You gave me a place to be myself.

You also instilled an expectation of perfection in me that has been hard to break. You put me in a position to be judged for years, a feeling that bled through my body as it changed. A mindset that being perfect was always the goal, and while a part of that was true when I spent time with you, I carried it within me outside of you.

After leaving you, I spent years wondering if I was good enough. How can I be a perfect ten? Can I attain the perfection I trained for as an adolescent? How do I stop trying to be so perfect? I stretched, strengthened, conditioned, cried, flipped, fell, bent, broke, and quit while spending time with you. I could say that you shaped me into who I am today. You fed something within me, and I will always love and appreciate you for that, but you also broke me. I don’t blame you though, because it was a part of my journey. I know now that sometimes you break in order to come back stronger, and that is exactly what I did.

Thank you, Stars and Stripes Gymnastics Academy, for teaching me mind-body connection. I appreciate you showing me that there are no limits when fear is not around. You helped the version of me that is writing this letter recognize how important physical activity is and just how far a little discipline goes. Thank you for being a place where I could release and be free. Most importantly, thank you for sending me on a journey to true self-love and acceptance. Because of you, I can blend my dedication and drive with my recognition of rest and patience. I know that for me, the best outlet for releasing unacknowledged energy is through exercise. I know that there is no such thing as perfect, but that my love for my imperfections is exactly what makes me perfect. Saying goodbye was so hard because you helped shape me into the person I am today. You will always be a piece of me, and I love you for that.

Yours truly,

Sam

Dear Shop of Stories,

I walk in and am hit with the strong scent of antiseptic and adrenaline. To me, though, it feels like a confessional.

I remember walking in scared that first time, not because of the pulsating needle, but I was scared of being seen. I wasn’t there to be rebellious or to ruin my body. I was there because I needed to remember something. Someone. Myself.

There weren’t many questions asked, I just got pointed to the chair and nodded like I understood. With a small buzz and a slow, careful, gentle hand, you gave me my sister’s handwriting, looped and familiar, across my right forearm. My first tattoo. A permanent reminder of her voice, even when she’s not around to say the words out loud, and we grew miles apart.

The second one came months later, in the form of my middle name, tucked beneath my collarbone. The comfort of the leather chair, the needle buzzing again, but this time I was excited. A name I used to hide, then later learned to reclaim. It was never about vanity, but something to express my newfound love of the favorite version of me. It wasn’t my name directly, but rather, images that told stories, and explained the love I had for three letters.

Then came the picture of Icarus. Not because I wanted to glorify his fall, but because I needed to honor his flight. Glorious wings spanning the back of my upper arm, reaching for something just out of frame, just off of my skin. A reminder that even if I crash, at least I tried.

The shop, the artist, everyone, they never judged the reasons I came back. Never treated the ink like trends, or believing I was stupid for wanting a certain image or specific words. I just kept getting handed the mirror and the ink, letting me rewrite the parts of me that once felt too fragile to hold.

Slowly, my arms got covered in stories, stitched in black permanence, in lines and curves, a visible roadmap of my life. Of surviving. Of growing and becoming me.

It didn’t just change how I looked. It made me remember who I was.

Sincerely,
The Girl Who Wears Her Life Story in Ink

Dear PT21946,

Your peach colored walls and flaked paint live in my memory. So does the slick tile and the bathroom pipe. Oh, that pipe that the workers sabotaged with rocks, because the company didn’t pay their migrant contract. I don’t mind, really, I’d do that same trick. I’d like to stick it to the man too.

The day your pipe back flowed and I couldn’t quite cope, I simply shut that bathroom door. My mother-in-law however, made of sterner stuff, took care of that. I’m still sorry.

I can hear the grating noise of the front door grille as if it was just now. It’s been 18 years, and that’s a long time.

I wish for a few things that are probably still in your cubby space. I’d really love my nosey face mug collection. If you know where my clarinet is located, send it. I’ll pay the international rate.

Remember the children’s giggles, and the Humphrey Bear tv show? Do you remember the piano tunes we shared to pass the day? Do you remember the shouting and shoving? You alone listened to me cry at night. You saw the broken furniture. Maybe it is time to forget.

I miss the sun streaming through your master bedroom window, the designer kitchen with the funny cabinets, my children’s shoes lined up by the door. I’m sorry we left in a rush; the children have grown and gone. They are doing fine, yes.

I hope the neighborhood is friendly. I hope whoever cares for you now does better.

Love,
Ruth

Style score 100%

In March,
It rests forgotten. Abandoned, neglected, alone. You
used to visit It, befriended It once, but You’d
always leave and forget. Left It asking for You
to return. But You were two on-and-off lovers, except You
didn’t even know Its name.

In April,
You remember that You need to bend Your knees. It calls to You,
so this time You answer, walk to It. It listens as You
tell It Your woes. Anchor deployed.

In May,
You almost forget once again, but You
return. The sun is now warm enough for You
and It to soak it up, so You and It
do so together. The Adirondack chairs have returned and You
begin to look for new life.

In June,
You visit It many times. Shared salt water becomes Your
currency. It gives You wind when You
need Your thoughts blown away. You
embrace the dizzying nature of the place, with
maple leaves inducing a welcoming vertigo. You
let It speak to You when You can’t listen. You
feel It when It gives nothing for You to feel.

In July,
It attracts Others, but You don’t want to share Your
friend, Your caretaker. It is the beams that hold up
a house on the hill; those wooden supports can only belong
to one home. You asked It to build them under You.
Banter and smiles for the Others, but You
wish they would drown.

In August,
the sand burns Your toes and sun reddens Your
nose. Hot air begs Your lungs not to breathe.
Miniscule waves remind You that Your
ears still work. Minnows nibble on Your flesh and flies feast
on Your sweat. It’s what you need.

In September,
You wonder if You can still float. You
can’t feel Your arms or legs, but It
is a beacon for limbless buoys and people alike.
Each grain of sand worth the same as a
fiddler crab, dead heron, browning stalk, or You.

In October,
You visit It alone. No one else cares for Your
place. It’s Yours in rain and cold and warmth and light.
It’s Yours.

In November,
a chill tries to keep You away from It, but no force can keep You
and It apart. You no longer go in Its waters, but You
sit cross legged in Its mud.

In December,
cold air hurts Your lungs in the way that the heat used to. But You
still remember that You can’t live without each other, so You
Keep coming back. Ice lines the shore in a way
that no magic could produce. Fractals hold each granule of sand together.
Fractals hold You and It together.

In January,
pink sunsets could be the only reason You
would come back, except the sky doesn’t know what It
means to You. Even gray days and lightless nights
provide no barrier between You and It.

In February,
nothing happens. But You prepare Yourself to start anew with It.
Another cycle awaits, news months incoming. You
will walk on water in a few weeks. You will come to It
even when You don’t need it.

In March,
I come back again. I have new eyes, new body, new perspective.
I know It will never be forgotten again. It gave and I took, and I
don’t need It anymore, but I want It.
And It will forever welcome Me back.

Dear Unsealers,

Bienvenue à Paris!

October 8th, 2012

After a long night’s journey into daylight, we’ve arrived in Paris. It’s just my sister and I with no parents for the very first time.

It still feels surreal to climb the steps of the Blanche Metro station. Metropolitan above our heads in wrought iron, the Moulin Rouge on the other side of the street. We’ve made it to our home base in Montmartre.

The winding streets going uphill. Past the Cafe 2 du Moulins, and Amelie’s portrait inside. The pink exterior of the cabaret, Au Lapin Agile, and the bronze bust of the chanteuse, Dalida.

At the top of the hill, the sacred heart of Paris. Arriving at the front doors of the imposing Basillaca de Sacre Coeur.

Even on a gray evening, one could see Paris’s skyline as far as the eye could see.

It was not the fever dream that’s been the last few months we’re actually in the City of Lights.

This moment happened with a huge measure of serendipity. Back in May, I got a phone call from Time Out New York saying that I won a round trip flight for two to Paris on XL Airways France.

I couldn’t believe it. I enter their contests every week and don’t win them. Until now.

The reality of the situation only hit me days later, after receiving a congratulatory email from the airline. And even then, I didn’t want to believe it until my feet touched down at Aeroport Charles DeGaulle.

As the days went on, where didn’t we go?!

Versailles, climbing up the Arc de Triomphe the D’Orsay, the Louvre, La Tour Eiffel. Cruising along the River Seine.

There were not so great moments too.

An allergic reaction, excessive wine consumption, and a missed train to London caused problems.

But we made it through the situations to enjoy the trip.

Thirteen years, and one more trip to Paris later, I realize how much the city held my story.

By showing for better and worse, that I can be more than the cerebral palsy allows.

I will say it every time… J’adore Paris!