Stream of Consciousness

Christina Standing on the precipice, I gaze down. Expecting to see a chasm of darkness, representing my uncertainty and hesitation in how to proceed, just as I have seen in the past, instead, I am met with an entirely different view. Gazing back at me, with equal fervor, is a familiar set of eyes, not quite of a stranger yet not quite my own: charcoal in color, soft with compassion yet hardened by time and experience. These eyes are those of a future self, and indeed, I am met with my own reflection. These eyes, apertures into the soul, radiate confidence, maturity, and knowledge that cast a long shadow over the confusion, naivety, and ignorance that I exude now as a seventeen-year-old. While one screams satisfaction and belonging, the other struggles to find her place and purpose in the world. The difference separating the two stages of life is massive, vastly beyond the hope of reconciliation, yet somehow, they are one; somehow, they are mine. It seems that time is the great ...

Avery                   How do I write something about the new year, something about personal reflection, while also making it something I want to share? Sometimes it’s best to leave things a bit ambiguous. I felt inspired by the concept of Gauguin’s “Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?” so I’ll see where that takes me.               Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? I don’t know. I am me, though I’m not sure who that is. I am going somewhere, though I’m not sure where that is. I am doing something, though I’m not sure what that is. I am me, always changing, always the same. Always questioning stereotypes, futures, and appearance. Always loving words, art, music, fashion, movies, photos, creatures, God, nature. I am going somewhere, always somewhere new, always coming home. Is it literal? ...

Avery A drip on the window sill, again, again. The sky’s colorful components cast away, a medley of silent hues, no blue, remain. It is fertile out there, soil darkened, leaves enriched. Each dry, despairing, desolate plant, gets a chance of revival, rejuvenation, rebirth. The pouring is unpredictable, but it happens. When will we learn the same is true for us? The seasons of dryness are fleeting, stagnancy will pave way to droplets, growth.