main character

we assume we’re the main characters of our own stories.

we are, after all, the centre of everything we experience. and everyone has a story.

we don’t know it any other way.

but then something happens that makes us wonder

if we’re like nick carraway,

the sidekick in someone else’s fairytale.

what are we, really?

word weird: autumn

* derived from the latin autumnus and possibly the ancient etruscan root autu-, which means the passing of the year. 

* was used as the old french autompne (automne in modern french and autumpne in middle english) before it was normalised into the original latin

* before the 16th century, harvest was used to refer to the season 

* the word backend, once a common way to refer to the season, has been replaced by autumn

* the alternative word, fall, coming from the old english fiaell or feallen and the old norse fall, means to "fall from a height" and also is related to phrases like "fall of a leaf" and "fall of the year"

* in poetry, autumn is often associated with melancholia (as in Yeats's poem the wild swans at coole and Keats's to autumn)

* since 1997, Autumn is one of the top 100 names for girls in the united states

thoughts on endings

 “i'll come back when you call me / no need to say goodbye."

    this year i'm a senior. it's difficult, saying goodbye to the things i've known for four years, but i'm also excited for what comes next. i don't want to say goodbye, though. i don't want to leave these people, these places behind. 

    i've still got time. i'm just not ready.

some poetry

 

eighteen

ages are funny things. to think that

you’ve existed for longer than someone

and shorter than someone else—

isn’t that strange?

and some of them have meanings.

you, for instance. you’re eighteen. what does that mean?

nothing. everything.

a child in someone’s mind and a grown-up in someone else’s.

you “turn eighteen” (what does that even mean? it’s like it’s the turn of a century)

and you become the same but different.

you’re a man now, child,

in the eyes of the world. you’re not a “minor” anymore. you’re a “major”.

a full-fledged human. congratulations, you actually exist now.

but what you did before, isn’t that important too?

ages are funny things. some people say they matter, but do they?

you don’t seem so different to me.

headache

thud.

thud.

thud.

there’s a small creature inside my head

it’s knocking at my skull with its teeth.

thud.

go away, small creature, you’re hurting me

i can’t possibly do anything

with you inside my head.

thud.

thud.

shut up, small creature, nobody cares about you.

thud.

“leave me my name.” - john proctor, the crucible

fool.

you want my name?

i have given you my soul.

sure, you can have my name,

once you’ve pried it from my cold, dead hands.

i have given you my soul. leave me my name.

a gold-tinged dream