Love Letter

Dear 1995 GMC I am in such love with you, thank you for being in my life I love all the things about you. I love your tinted windows, brush guard, your radio, the Chevy rims that don’t belong on you, all my stickers I put on you. You were always there for me when I got mad you would just listen to what I had say. You have always kept me safe when I was driving.  I also remember our first time going off roading you got so many dents and scratches and you just shook it off that’s the best feature I love about you. I also forgot to say I enjoy using the led color changing lights that you have at night. You also have made a lasting impact on my friends and i enjoy seeing that they care about my truck as much as I do. I also love how you never let me stuck alongside the road.

“It’s pouring, I love when its pouring. It’s like the sky is crying” I said. “Why is it crying? Maybe it just got over a break up with the moon”. I hear the voice coming across the wall of water falling and flooding the ground. I peered over to see a guy standing there. A black trench coat opened, black ripped skinny jeans, black sweater and tall white rain boots. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here.” The lamp post by us was radiating light making all the droplets look like white and yellow raindrops. The stranger spoke again “Yea, I always come here when it’s raining. But why do you like it when the sky cries?” I was baffled that someone wanted to talk to me. “I don’t know I feel like everyone is happy in their lives, but I’m always sad or depressed. So, when the sky cries I feel like something at least understands me.”

The stranger spoke again un-phased by my words. “That’s poetic, just like the coffee shop over there. With its autumn tone radiating through the cold.” “Yea that would be nice.” We walked into the coffee shop. It seemed old and rustic with books lining the walls. People sat on couches and drank coffee out of multiple different mugs. As we approached the counter a sign read “PICK A MUG”. The stranger picked one out. “This one is my favorite.” It was a jug shaped mug with that famous Japanese. painting of the wave on it. I seemed to be made from pottery. I picked out the mug that was simplistic with a thick black and grey line on it. “Mysterious” The stranger said. “Just like you” I told him. “He merely smiled.” We sat down at some chairs. “So, you just talk to random strangers?” “Not necessarily, you’re the weird one. Talking to yourself and being sad all the time.” I gave him a look, the look you give someone who just insulted your sister, the insult being slightly true. However, it did not come from you therefore it was mean.  “My current emotional state shouldn’t concern a stranger. Who don’t even know the name- ““Its Jon.” He seemed to interrupt me with haste wanting to fill the awkward moment. “oh. My names Khozmo.” “That’s and interesting name.” The moment passed by like getting hit by a 16-wheel semi-truck. Then stumbling down a flight of stair at the Lincoln memorial. Painful and awkward. “Yea, my dad named me after someone close to him, a horse.” Those words flying out of my mouth felt as though I just said I was stupid as a rock. “That’s cool, that must have been some horse.” A feeling of relief ran over my body like waves crashing against the beach.

Station 1

Concert Picture

 

I’ve been to a lot of concerts before this one so it’s nothing new to me, but I can tell it’s going to be my favorite one yet.  I’m seeing my favorite band, Neck Deep, for the first time.  I’ve been listening to this band for years but I’ve never had the chance to see them live.  I love most of their songs and I really connect to their lyrics.  During the concert, me and my friend ended up being second row which was cool and I was happy about that.  The crowd was great, they were all helping each other and nothing went wrong the entire show.  My favorite part about any concert I go to is always seeing an entire roomful of people all having a good time.  We’re all sharing the same yet different experience at the same time.  Sometimes there are fans crying when a certain song comes on. I don’t know why they’re crying, maybe it’s because they love that song or that song makes them sad or that song is just special to them and they feel overwhelmed.  I just always thought it was amazing how people can be so connected to a band and their music and that they have the opportunity to experience their favorite songs live.

A Pretty Girl

Walking down the hallway in High School is one of the most terrifying seconds of my life. Everyone is looking at you dead in the face judging your every move. She doesn’t care. She lets her beautiful black hair down, and wears no makeup everyday. Her green eyes remind me of emeralds. Her freckles look like stars scattered across her delicate face. She isn’t skinny but she isn’t fat either. She has a chubby stomach but she doesn’t care. Her voice is as gentle as an angel. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and cares about others more than she will ever care for herself. I admire her wisdom, and strength to go her own way when she needs to.

Concrete imaginary

The room dark but a open door and window let some light in. I was among friends playing cards on a grey shanty table. But even among friends I had an uneasy feeling as if something was watching me from the darkness. For some unknown reason, I got up and started running out (perhaps this was a primal instinct to run away from danger) and the next thing I knew I was in a tunnel That was dimly lit up by oil lamps and kept on changing. One moment it was a dug-out dirt tunnel and held up with wooden beams and the next I was in a dark old stone tunnel. I saw 3 lights that glistened red in pitch black darkness in one of these tunnels. They eerily rotated and I felt as if eyes staring me down. These lights Shot right through me and petrified me. It gave a weird feeling of something watching its prey before it eats it. Before I knew it I was forcibly woken up by my conscience in my bed. I sat there sweating fore head down trying to collect the weird mash of a dream this was. Like most dreams this one made no sense, but one that did make sense was the weird sensation that felt like something was behind me.

Concrete Imagery

The buses with the scarring color yellow I’ve dreaded for the past 11 years that make my eyes crumble.

The leaves on the trees trying to decide what their complexion is, messing with the August lovers.

The blue benches that are abandoned until the end of the school year, empty like a broken heart.

The forgotten ruby red do not enter signs.

The accumulation of vehicles waiting desperately for the bell to ring.

The parking lot that goes from deserted to grand central station every morning and evening.

The towering trees shedding their appearance every season into the latest trend.

Every color of the rainbow you can imagine out in the parking lot, every car diverse in its own unique way.

The parents with unimaginable apparel that come to break their kids out for doctor appointments.

The teachers with their heels that echo in the distance as they walk on the empty pavement.

I don’t care enough to name this

The decrepit walls of the abandoned warehouse showed signs of recent abuse; likely just the passing druggie vagabonds. The dark green vines on the wall created a bit of spotty shade from the tainted windows above. Nonetheless, this was the only shelter available to me on this dark stormy night. As I settle down against the chipped red-brick wall, I look around at the run-down warehouse. The logo on the wall seems to depict a food-distributor, but I can’t tell what the name of the company was. It’s blackened by soot, as if someone had lit a fire inside of the warehouse. I slowly close my eyes, and prepare for a long night of uncomfortable and cramped sleep.

The Beautiful Ocean

The waves are gently skipping through the shore, greeting the sand with a warm hello.  The cozy sun is slowly fading away behind the horizon. Soon nighttime will appear from above covering the sky like a blanket. The sky is a soft red tone complementing the sun. The ocean is sprinkled with little crystals that glistens in the water. On the shore, there is a lonely wooden dock that seems lifeless like a dried up rose. The wood has been chipped away over the years. Next to the dock light bulbs are hanged up. That is the only thing that keeps the night going. I stand by the dock admiring the view. The sand tickles my feet, as I walk closer to the shore. The seagulls are scattering the beach like a pack of wolves. They scavenge for food as hyenas. The shells wash up on the shore, sleeping on the sand silently. The waves soothes the beach with its low melody. The day is finished closing the scene, and welcoming night as it takes the stage.