The Evolution of Christmas Emotions

When you're young, Christmas is full of anticipation. 

The evening church service lasts an hour but feels like days.

Lighting the candle for Silent Night is exciting.

You leave cookies, carrots, and a glass of milk for Santa.

You wake up early, long before the sun rises, to open up stockings. 

Then you must wait until the cinnamon rolls to cook before you open gifts.

The whole day is filled with magic from the presents received and the time spent with family. 

It's a Wonderful Life plays in the evening, though the meaning goes right over your head.

You fall asleep, dreaming of what will come next year.

When you're a young adult, Christmas isn't as magical.

The evening church service goes by in a blink of an eye.

Lighting the candle of Silent Night is stressful but beautiful.

Carrots aren't left for reindeer. 

Your mom texts you if you sleep in until 8am.

The cinnamon rolls are waiting for you downstairs.

Everyone opens up stockings before you.

Presents are exchanged quickly after.

The day feels quite normal considering it's a holiday.

You go to the movies to see the latest Star Wars movie.

It's a Wonderful Life plays in the evening, the meaning is understood and moments hold significance.

You fall asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular.

Seventeen Thoughts About 2017

1. This year has felt like many years in one second.
2. We've come so far, moved all over, gone back and forth and we're only beginning.
3. Time moves as quickly as the never-ending news cycle. 
4. What used to be overlooked is no longer acceptable.
5. There's more good than evil, always has been, always will be.
6. Focusing on what matters is more important than getting caught up in meaningless distractions.
7. Leaders who are ignorant tell lies instead of working towards what they said they would accomplish.
8. A majority of people form opinions without doing research on the subject they're discussing.
9. Critical thinking and analyzing is so important, especially with "fake news".
10. We can't expect anyone to save us from where we are by refusing to step up to the plate ourselves.
11. Those who resist ignorance and refuse to be silenced are going to change our future for the better.
12. The shift in our culture within the last couple of months regarding sexual harassment and assault is a step in the right direction.
13. Women are sharing their stories. We are being heard, no longer ignored.
14. Men who have gotten away with disgusting and inappropriate behavior for far too long are finally being held accountable for their actions.
15. There's a light at the end of the long tunnel.
16. The tides are changing.
17. Change is coming.

The Name Your Parents Gave You

may have a meaning or chosen for a reason
or your parents could have just liked it
whatever it is, it's the first thing you're called
it's how you're known, seen, and spoken of
for the majority, if not all, of your life.
you may go through phases of wanting to
change it, the name they chose doesn't
fit your personality or soul, how would
they know this isn't what you were meant
to be named, you'd think to yourself when
you decide you should change it, naming
yourself because you'd rather have a better
name to match how you want to view the
life you created or the life you desire to have.
you try it out, introduce yourself to new
or existing people in your life as the name
you feel is right for you. only you realize
after some time of insisting people call
you this name that you chose for yourself
that it doesn't sound like you, the name
strangers call you only works for as
long as the phase does, you realize
the name your parents gave you is the
only gift that remains until you pass on.
you grow up and go someplace, where
you meet someone and suddenly decide
to introduce yourself them as the name
you were given at birth, the one you
choose to run away from for the
several months because you wanted
a new life and now that you're here,
you don't mind bringing back the
name you've always had and refused
to keep when you were eager to leave.

The Disconnect

I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.

—	J.D. Salinger

Contradiction with emotion through thought and conversation.
Rambling occurs when there isn't connection from one to the other.
Articulation is tricky with or without time constraints.
For I cannot speak what I want to say fluently.
To do so perfectly is to know magic.

Since my thoughts are rarely heard by others through my voice,
I write them down, with messy handwriting no less.
This is how I think and feel and talk.

Once I found my thoughts on a page, I felt free.
No longer feeling constricted by my own voice

Honestly, I don't know how I would feel 
If my thoughts and my speech were perfectly connected.

I wouldn't ramble to explain myself.

The need to explain oneself is exhausting.
How many people are actually listening?
Everything I say I don't necessarily mean or feel.

My days of filling rooms with unnecessary air are over.
You wouldn't know if what I was saying to you was true.

Is it?

What you're reading now, is this my story?
Are these words how I'm feeling?
You could say yes and be wrong.

Or you could believe this is not my story but still answer yes.
How would I know how you feel?

How would you know the truth from a lie?


If I were to explain to you what I mean,


If I were capable of doing so through my actual voice,



I'm not sure I'd feel like it.

Unnecessary Air

"It is equally important to listen as it is to speak."

-Sarah Kay

The words she spoke were pointless. They didn't matter, not even to her. She spoke them to fill the silence, to avoid the transition between topics when there's an uncertain pause. Those moments made her cringe with the pain of not knowing what to do or say.  She'd speak the day away if no one jumped in. She'd speak if no one was listening. She hated the sound of her own voice. It was too high and nasally to accept. Why did she keep speaking, you may ask? She wanted to drown out her thoughts by always saying something. No one really cared. About her opinions that weren't educated. About her beliefs that weren't true. About her perspective that wasn't hers. It was a mirror of what she thought she wanted to reflect in her life and those around her. It was all smoke, a distraction from who she wanted to be, from who she was supposed to be. The valuable lesson came upon her one day when her friend mentioned that she should try listening to those around her instead of only to herself. For the first time in years, she actually heard someone else say something. For the first time, she actually listened and took in another person's words. Since that fateful moment, she no longer fills a room with unnecessary air. She laughs, smiles, and waits her turn. She formulates her opinions through hearing other people's perspectives and reading what's happening. She learned those awkward pauses aren't meant to be painful, they're meant for one to think. Hearing someone is as important as wanting to be heard.

Early Morning Writing - Fiction

"They’ll eat your heart alive 

Every time."

—	Jack Kerouac

As I write these words, my hands are shaking while pressing the keys. I don't know why they just are. I've had a few drinks and I don't know how much sense this will make. You see, I like to try and impress people with what I have to say. Rocky Mountain High by John Denver plays in the background. He's a good singer and sings good songs, songs that remind you of home or the good old days. This song, in particular, reminds me of the moments where I've experienced the wonders of this magical, mysterious earth we're lucky to call our home. Kerouac always writes honest words. I've been dabbling with the quote on the top of the page for a couple of weeks now. I've memorized this quote, trying to make sense of the deeper meanings. I read somewhere that Kerouac was Buddist, I'm not sure how accurate that is but his writing holds something special, something behind the words, it takes some time to peel away to find. Each person who does will find a different meaning. Meaning stems from the perspective of opinion, bias, and other life experience from our childhood and passions. We, each see the life through different eyes and process it as though we're the only ones here. We're alone with each other and yet we can find beautiful moments together. Humanity is mostly good, or so I tell myself to stay sane amongst the chaos that is this society. What is happening with America and the news and the endless conversation that leads us nowhere but back to the beginning of being completely confused? Did the fathers who begin this country imagine this is where we would be now? Fighting and hating one another because of our beliefs? What makes you right and me wrong? What causes these disagreements anyway? Why can't we see what we have in common instead of what we don't? How much longer can we stand for this? It's only been a year since this loser took office and we haven't improved our communication. We've only gotten worse. I guess you know who I voted for. Or maybe you don't. I wasn't planning on writing this to get political. But everything today revolves around talking about politics or the fighting about not believing one another. Why can't the government get anything accomplished if we're focusing too much on the wrong things? The stories constantly circling in the media, within both major party beliefs, aren't productive. How can we be productive? How can we accept one another without our differences blinding our motives? We need to be better. We need to work better. We need to be held accountable for our actions and learn how to do better. Respect. We need to teach respect. We need to learn to respect each other more than we need to focus on the difference between us. Anyway. The Kerouac quote has been swirling around in my thoughts for a few weeks. I think I mentioned it earlier. I'm too tired to go back and read. I think I did. He's right, Kerouac is. You can't expect to write something and have everyone loves it. I want to impress people. I don't impress myself often and my writing is where I can grab people's attention and have them listen for a few minutes. If you've gotten this far, I'm impressed. You've done better than me. I won't be reading this. Ignore any grammar or spelling mistakes. Blame the alcohol. The best excuse there is. What I'm trying to get at and I promise I'll stop as soon as I get this out. You gotta do what makes you happy and make the most out of what you love. There will be some people who will bring you down no matter what you do. Ignore them. They will eat your heart out every time. Don't take it personally. They don't have what you do. Get back up and show them their ignorant, biased criticism means nothing to you or what you want to do. Find songs that bring out memories and moments you've forgotten about. As I was writing the last few sentences, Jimi Hendrix's live version of Rolling Stone came on. Bob Dylan is an artist and whenever I listen to him, childhood car rides flash through my mind. Oh, the innocence. When the only thing that existed was the lyrics and the never-ending sea of landscape between one state another that rarely changes until you're far enough away from home. Jimi's version is magic, perfectly aligning with Dylan's lyrics. Artist meets another artist with a distinct understanding, nothing is set in stone except for what you're doing now. I'm going to go refill my glass. If you made it this far, you deserve a drink as well. It doesn't have to be alcohol, it can be tea or terrible coffee or water or whatever fancy thing you have in your fridge. Okay, be right back. 

Keys to Locked Doors - Fiction

“Words are more treacherous and powerful than we think.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre 

Once the words fell from her lips, there was no going back. There was no questioning, no wondering the intent of her purpose in this life. She spoke the truth after using up all the lies. Words touch the soul hold more significance than hands touching the naked body. The stars sparkled above her as she lay on the dock alone, watching the universe shift as the moon moved from one horizon to another. Shooting stars lit up her mind, like moments filling up her summer life. Words hold the keys to different doors she had yet to explore, yet to know, yet to see. It's silly, actually. How words contained in thoughts can make the stomach flutter with joy or nerves. How seeing isn't believing and knowing is never quite certain. She thought she knew but she wasn't sure. Unlocking the door, the key didn't budge. The danger of words is that once they're let out into the universe, they are free to go wild and take on a life of their own. There's no stopping how others will think of them. Floating in and out of ears, the words that fell from her lips were no longer hers. They left just as summer began to fade into autumn. She learned the hard way. Speaking without thinking with full meaning will release emotions that were bottled up for too long. Words got stuck in her throat, she almost choked. The door vanished. The life she had dreamed for herself shifted. Looking up at the stars on the dock as a soft wind blew, she no longer dreamed of love. Instead, she dreamed of what she could become.  

Stranger's Eyes

Today, I unexpectedly looked into a stranger's eyes

as he passed by me,

a moment of connection

that sparked then faded away,

no flames were made.

His eyes were blue,

like the light sea.

He was walking

as I stood,

waiting.

Waiting for my car to fill up,

waiting for the snow to come this way.

A moment of eyes

meeting went nowhere.

He was gone before I could think.

Untitled Thoughts

Today, my brain has remained blank.

I try to think of what to write,

and nothing comes my way.

What you will read are thoughts

not entirely thought out.

Enjoy.

I notice patterns I've formed

over years of coming into my own.

What I lean on to distract is

nothing more than silly facts. 

This, that, and the next thing

doesn't help me focus on what

matters. I sway out of stories

of continuation, not born from

my mind. I sit and wonder why.

The internet is my enemy when

I need to focus. I go down

different rabbit holes of

google, twitter, and instagram

searching for anything. Movies,

television shows, song choices,

whatever perked my interest

will become a momentary

obsession of distraction. I

make stories in my head that

will never be formed into words

on a page. Certain stories aren't

meant to be known by anyone but me.

They aren't good enough. My mind

plays around with stories. I'm

writing one now, a story of my own,

born in my thoughts, written on

pages. I've been working on it for

almost two months. I know where I

want it to end and I'm not even

close. It's exciting, though. To

make a character come to life and

write what happens on a journey

of her own. So far, I like it.

Maybe one day you will read it. 

And you will wonder if it was

the story I'm writing about now. 

#MeToo

Too young to know
what happened
wasn't a game

He framed it
as something
fun and simple

Looking back
I wonder if his 
pattern continued




I didn't want him
to enter my
personal space

Arms crossed
I stood away

Clearly uncomfortable

He kept touching
my shoulder

Said he didn't
bite

Pulled me in
for an unwanted hug
my arms still crossed

I pushed him away
and ran

Scared he would follow me
and do something worse

Though I was physically okay
the moment left mental scars
throughout my teenage years


Anxiety

Fear
Paranoia

Always thinking the worst

What if
What if
What if
What if
What if


The thoughts I had running away
were applied repeatedly day after day



I don't remember
their appearances, 
voices, or names

Only their actions remained

★

Over the last couple of weeks, the hashtag MeToo has become prevalent across all social media platforms. I've read so many stories from girls and women of all ages, detailing the horrible encounters and incidents that left them forever changed. Reading stories from those I follow and who I am friends with, I understand that I'm not the only young woman who fears rape, sexual assault, or harassment every time I walk out my door. Whenever I'm anywhere in public, especially when I am alone, I'm hyper-aware of my surroundings. Who is near me and what is they're doing. I walk fast with determination and ignore anyone I don't know who tries to stop me. I pretend I don't hear them or shake my head without stopping. This is the mechanism I've developed over the years to feel as comfortable and calm as I can without letting vulnerability or anxiety lead my thoughts to my fears. I'm a focused walker. I can push my fears to the side to get through my day, or at least from place to place.  



One post that really stuck with me was from Caitlin FitzGerald, who wrote on Instagram:


"This summer my father and I were listening to the radio and a story came on about fear and the host said something like, "(white) men are truly afraid a handful of times in their lives, while women are afraid almost every day." My father turned to me in shock and said, "is that true for women?!" To which I could only reply with shock of my own: "Of course it is dad."" 



If this hashtag has taught society anything is that we live in a culture where much more goes unspoken than expected. Women (and men) are scared to share their stories because they're afraid of not being believed. There is an unspoken fear among the majority of women. 

We have stories. We are sharing them and we are being listened to. Where do we go from here? 

To My Mother

You see a version of you when you look at me

A younger one with your blonde hair

I am your mini-me, six inches shorter exactly

Half a foot, my two steps equals your one

Walking around the city for days

You tell me a bit about the old days

When you were my age, living in a city northeast of where we were

I'm the navigator, you're the passenger

You remind me to look around 

When I don't know where we are or where we're supposed to go

You tell me that time brings

Joy for the journey instead of the destination

I was too busy searching To see what could be 

I looked around more, appreciated the view

Of people living their lives and buildings sky high

You reminded me what to focus on what's important, what matters

I regret not spending more time the first day looking around

And seeing what I missed, we could have gone down a street

With moments I will never glimpse

Youth focuses on getting there and wisdom removes the anticipation

You forgive me when I got mad at you when I was really mad at my phone

For not understanding the road, the sidewalk of this place

There was magic in the heat of the sun but my mind and body were focused

On the feelings instead of observing how incredible the city is

I cried when we were leaving because you were going and I felt alone

What if What if What if What if What if

Swirled through my mind allowing me to cry

I would have been fine if I had less time

To go over why, to handle my thoughts

Unexpected moments, uncertain moments

Dramatic emotions, the rain was falling down

Tears were falling too, both neverending and fast

Causing reality to blur, all I wanted to go home

Though I said I love you first

Last Dance with Tom Petty

I was seventeen when I first heard Tom Petty's Mary Jane's Last Dance. I was driving around in the car with my mom, practicing for my driver's test the following day. When the song came on the radio, I instantly wanted to know whose song it was and listen to it a million times. There was something about the feel and tone of the song that grabbed my attention and told a complex story. To me, it was about many things and perhaps nothing of what Tom expected the song to be. I asked my mom what the song was and she said she thought it was Tom Petty.

When we returned home from driving around in circles, I looked up the song on Youtube and found a cd that my dad had of Tom Petty. I downloaded the song onto my iPod touch and played it on repeat for hours. There's something about the beginning of this song that says everything without words. The instruments, the echo, and the electric guitar create this unique feeling that everything is wrong and it's all caused by running away from who you're supposed to be to form this person that stays in people's memory.

The woman he’s singing about in the song isn't perfect and he details the aspects of her character that aren’t pretty. He doesn’t see past them and she doesn’t doesn’t try to hide them. Maybe I grasped onto his version of this woman because we, as the listener, do not know if her version of herself matches how he’s choosing to depict her as. We’re not aware of he’s a reliable narrator. To me, she represents someone who I’m never capable of being but ultimately was. At the time when I first heard this song, I wasn’t able to acknowledge who I was. I was mentally on the run, refusing aspects of myself I can’t change and yet everyone hears it. I was scared of what acknowledging who I am could mean. I wasn’t prepared and I ran for as long as I could.

Nowadays, I’m no longer running away from myself. Therefore, I can no longer relate to the girl Tom Petty was singing about. Last Monday, when I heard he unfortunately left this life at the young age of  66, I listened to all the Tom Petty songs I love throughout my day on Tuesday. Listening to Mary Jane’s Last Dance over and over again, I could hear who I once was and who the women he sang about used to be. 

Loops

Innocent lives meet an unexpected demise.

Legends fall from the fading skies.

Lost for words, don't know what to say.

Tears are shed when violence ends the day.

Shock makes silence when words go down your throat.

I write this little note.

Nothing makes sense, nothing is real.

Though it is, it is real.

These words you read come from me.

Trying to understand, trying to see.

What it means when this occurs,

And everything becomes blurred.

I ask questions but find no answers.

You sang to many unique dancers.

Destruction from pain that isn't sane.

No one asked to play your games. 

Torn-Between Trailer!!!

Over the summer, I made a short film while I was in Maine. I'm not quite finished editing it yet but I thought I would give you a preview of what you can expect. The film is about a young woman named Jesse who is trying to figure out what exactly she wants in life. She's the type of person who makes decisions based on feelings and not thought. This is her journey to start figuring things out. The story is told through Jesse's internal thoughts and does not have dialogue. I can't give much away but I hope you enjoy this short trailer!


Torn-Between
A Short Film by Kelly Severseike
Coming Soon

Music: Scapes by Silent Partner

Change

someone demands
someone orders
someone cries
someone mocks
someone speaks
without thinking
change can be unnecessary

responses are shown
protests are peaceful
nothing is spoken
headlines are made
take a knee
stand up for what
you believe
change can be important

headlines
headlines
headlines
somehow getting news
is more important than
what is said about you
change can be redundant

sides
left right
up down
this that
disagreements
make arguments
no eye to eye
make it personal
no one wins
change can be missed

baby
toddler
child
teenager
young adult
adult
elder
transitions happen
personal feelings change
change can be a process

move from one place to another
fall in love, get married and then divorced
have children or don't have children
graduate and find yourself
know who you are and what you love
change can be good

leaves change colors
autumn arrives
weather drops 
sweaters on
warm fireplace
walk in the woods
admire the leaves
the colors marvel
in the rain
mountain views
the little things
change can be beautiful

Goodbye Summer

In a few days, it will be Autumn.

Summer's weather may stick around, but the season will be done for the year.

Heat, especially in September, is too gruesome to bare.

Get me out of the heat! I'm done with the constant sun!!

Where walking a block leaves you covered in sweat with no way to cool off.

It's the restrictiveness I hate the most, feeling as though I've overheated my soul.

When your wearing as little clothes as possible but what your wearing makes it worse.

How is this possible to loathe a season you once loved?

Perspectives change and places shift your point of view.

I grew up in a desert and was used to the heat.

The last time I went back, I swore I could never go again.

It's too much heat, I need seasons. I love seasons.

It wasn't until I was twelve when I got to experience seasons.

Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring.

For a while, I hated the cold but now I anticipate it the way I used to wait for summer.  

This summer, I got to experience a few different climates.

Dry heat, some humidity, and extreme humidity.

I prefer the first two to the last one.

Though I'm sick of all of it by now.

I'm ready for Autumn with cooler weather and warm sweaters.

Melodrama was the soundtrack of my summer.

I'm sure it will continue throughout the other seasons.

Summer, you're the worst with the heat.

Please, don't stay longer than your supposed to.

Like you did last year.

Goodbye.

Beginning of Summer

Remembering September 11th, 2001

I had just turned eight when 9/11 happened. All I was told that two planes had hit two tall towers in New York City. I wasn't able to fully comprehend what that meant at the time and a lot of the commotion was mostly kept away from me. Though there was an anxious feeling in the air. The day after, the entirety of my elementary school stood around the flag pole with the flag at half mast to honor everyone who lost their lives the previous day. There was crying from many of the adults while others looked stunned that the country was dealing with understanding this horrific event. With my right hand over my heart, I felt an enormous feeling that life would be different from that day forward.

There was this girl on the playground who was crying on the small yellow slide later that afternoon. Her name began with a K and she was wearing a red shirt and her brown hair was in a pony tail. I went up and asked her what was wrong. She looked at me, her light blue eyes filled with liquid. She told me that her father was missing in New York. 

That interaction was the most I really knew of what happened. Kids no longer having a mother or father. I can't remember how that impacted my thoughts then but looking back, I can't help but feel like that period of time during and after the attacks, life was changing all around me and I couldn't grasp anything for longer than a few minutes. My reality was still innocent, though I could see glimpses of the reality beyond my point of view was not.

Before 9/11, my father could come back with my mom, sister, and I at the airport to keep us distracted while my mom organized and got herself together to the flight to Maine. I remember watching planes go by with my father and getting excited about flying to see Grandma. The summer of 2002, he was no longer allowed to come back to the gate with us. There were new rules in place and those who weren't flying could no longer go past security. I could see my mom was a little more stressed than usual flying with us because she had to keep us calm and entertained while also navigating our way through security. 

My mother's brother and sister in law used to live in New York and we would visit them and go to the city. We visited them and took the train in a month or two before everything went down. We went to the famous toy store FAO Schwarz and I got a small walking toy dog. I remember being so excited about having that toy dog and walking a bit around the city, looking up at all the tall buildings. When 9/11 happened, I thought back to my wonderful time in the city and probably thought of all the toys I encountered at the toy store. Though I do remember the tall buildings and wondering if any of the ones I was amazed by were hurt.


Regardless of what I knew happened, I understood that what took place on September 11th, 2001 was serious and changed everyone's lives. It caused everyone to acknowledge the fact that there's bad and bad people can do bad things. But there's more good than bad, no matter what bad does.

A few years after, my family visited my uncle and aunt in New York and went back to the city. After a day of walking around and doing various activities, we walked by ground zero. It was a huge hole in the ground with a barbed wire fence around it. There were missing people fliers on the fence and dirt flying out of the hole. The buildings around still had black ash on the exterior from what had happened. It was a moment I'll never forget. The pain was still in the air and walking by the place where everyone's lives were impacted in some way was a magnitude of incomprehensible emotions and feelings. 

I learned more about what had actually happened on that day as the years went by. My freshman year of high school, I watched one of the many documentaries on tv and the footage shown was a lot to see. It's one thing to be told what happened and it's another thing to actually see and hear people who lose their lives on that day. Not only in New York but in Pennsylvania and Washington DC too. The weight I felt when everything happened came back when I watched that footage for the first time. I was back to my elementary school, standing around a flag pole with the flag at half mast, feeling the weight of the world changing in a single day, in one moment.

Last summer, I was fortunate enough to spend a few days in Washington DC. While I was there, the girl who I was with (who was 13 at the time) and I visited the Newseum. There was an exhibit of 9/11 and all the reporting that happened on 9/11 and the days following with the south tower's antenna on display. I was in a small room, watching the footage I had first encountered years before. While watching the terrifying and horrendous images flash across the screen, I realized I was the only in the room who was alive when 9/11 happened. It was this strange feeling of acknowledging that people younger than me who weren't old enough to know anything was happening or who weren't even born yet will learn about that day through history books and stories. They will never know what the world was like before 9/11. Life was different before that day and though I don't remember a lot, I'm thankful to have remembered enough. 

This day, we remember those who lost their lives and the families and friends who lost someone they loved. The girl with the blue eyes and brown hair who was crying on the small yellow slide left a few days after everything that happened a Tuesday in late summer and never came back. I always think of her on this day and wonder if her father was ever found or if his image and name were on one of the missing person fliers I saw on the fence. Mostly, I hope that she's okay.

Cracked Window - A Short Story

The rain had stopped. It poured for a few hours one late afternoon in September. I watched through a cracked, glass window, drops streaking my view of the earth into something I have not seen before. Details became blurred as colors heightened into shapes of circles and squares. 

I was reading a book, one I have read over ten times. It's permanently stuck in my brain of a memory that is not my own. And yet, it's comfort for when times get hard and I'm left in a panic. 

Rain has never been my favorite weather. I don't like getting my hair wet unless I absolutely must. Dancing in the rain has never been something that brings me joy. I'm overthinking how wet I am instead of being in the moment of feeling water fall onto my exposed face and limbs.

The book is about a girl who finds bits and pieces of herself in other people. She takes and molds her personality into whoever she's with. She does this because she doesn't know who she is or what she wants. So she drifts along shores and through different lives, looking and searching for what isn't there. In reality, she doesn't sit still because she's afraid of what she'll have to acknowledge when she does. 

The autumn leaves are beginning to transition. Magnificant colors are floating above, sprinkled with water from the rain. The universe is a magical mystery in how the seasons bring new visuals for the eyes to gaze at and cameras to capture. This is my favorite season, for the changing colors, remind me how beautiful change can be. 

This book is like a warm blanket on a cloudy day. For me, it's a reminder that everyone has something going on in their lives that they have to deal with. Though I cannot relate to the protagonist, I feel for this young woman. She's a mystery to herself and that ought to be a particular way of living. Falling into things without thinking and not letting people in because she can't let her own self in without destroying everything in her path. It's fascinating.

It's never easy but embracing change, which you really cannot control, is a healthier way of dealing with things. Comfort is a false notion that safety is always present. Because it's not and you must be able to ride the waves instead of being drifted back into the deep sea. 

I guess what I love about this story is what I hate about rain and love about autumn. This young woman won't embrace herself until the last page when she realizes she might actually look into the mirror and see what has become of who she is. I don't like the feel of rain but I admire the look of it. And the smell of everything being cleansed once more. Details come back into view through the cracked window. Falling leaves drift off the trees and floating through the air, away they go!