To Have Loved by GSMSTLitMag

To Have Loved

Infinitas Volume 10 GSMST

Infinitas To Have Loved Volume 10 Spring 2019 Gwinnett School of Mathematics, Science, and Technology 970 McElvaney Lane Lawrenceville GA, 30043

For Daniel “One of our brightest stars”

All You Need Is Love, Thanh Nguyen, 2019

Letter from the Editor:

Welcome to the tenth edition of Infinitas Magazine: To Have Loved. The theme arose out of an impulse to elevate mundane, adolescent concepts of love to a higher level that would suitably challenge our many talented authors and artists. We took inspiration from C. S. Lewisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s book The Four Loves, based on the Greek words for different aspects of love: storge, philia, eros, and agape. However, we added our own twist by devising our own four categories. Volume X takes you on a journey through human life, starting with the most fundamental love: family. A baby first experiences familial love, then learns the art of friendship upon entering childhood. Platonic love develops into romantic love, for better or worse. Finally, at the end of oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life come self-love and acceptance. Each section addresses various adversities and scenarios that one may face in each phase of love. From wholesome interactions to tragic falls from grace, the writers and artists present an interesting range of works. The beginning of each piece features a blurb about the love with a corresponding symbolic flower. In storge, we have the gardenia (Gardenia jasminoides) symbolizing devotion and protection, as well as children and family. In philia, we have the iris (iris germanica) symbolizing trust, faith, and hope, which all form the basis of a lasting friendship. In eros, we have the azalea (Rhododendron periclymenoides) symbolizing passion, romance, and eternal love. And lastly, in philautia, we have Narcissus (Narcissus poeticus)),which derives its name from the story of the Greek figure Narcissus whose tragic tale captures the duality of self-love. A large thank you to everyone who submitted to and lent their support for the literary magazine over the years so that we may celebrate our tenth edition.

Chloe Duensing, 2020

"To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life."

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;Victor Hugo, Les MisĂŠrables

Storge

Philia pg. 13 - 26

pg. 1 - 12

Cover Art— Cade West

Storge — Thanh Nguyen

Philia— Thanh Nguyen

Forged in Wax— Chloe Duensing

Playground Fairytales— Chloe Duensing 15 Untitled— Joseph Holeyenski

Icarus— Bhavana Kunnath Blood is Thicker than Water— Adaeze Uzoije

Sunbeam— Anonymous

Untitled— Nhu Mai Vu

Under Bloody Skies— Lillie Olliver It Blue My Mind— Anonymous

My Friend Above— Justice Sconiers

My “Friend” Below— Justice Sconiers

ATC— Mayowa Odunjo Nuclear Family— Eillie Revillo Uranium—Bhavana Kunnath

Goodbye Letter to GSMST— Yentil Nich- 23 olas Assorted Wire Art Untitled, Adaeze Uzoije

Eros

Philautia

pg. 27 - 48

pg. 49 - 70

Eros— Thanh Nguyen

Philautia— Thanh Nguyen

One for My Baby— Amber Bozeman

Today— Edric Owusu

To Love a Poet— Thanh Nguyen

Coffea— Thanh Nguyen The Captain— Bhavana Kunnath

Butterflies— Lillie Olliver

Out— Lillie Olliver 63

Who am I— Joycelin Lau

<3— Lillie Olliver

Untitled— Gannon Zachery

Morning Routine— Lillie Olliver

ilyyy— Lillie Olliver

Backstreet Boys— Leanna Nguyen

Modern Day Narcissus— Chloe Duensing 39

Beaches— Thomas Drew Spight Lamentations for Renee— Chloe Duensing

Circles— Elizabeth Hall

A Disquiet Follows My Soul— Adaeze Uzoije 47

The Barrier that Surrounds Me— Joycelin Lau A Letter to Myself— Leanna Nguyen I Promise to Love Myself More— Helen Nguyen

Storge

As C.S. Lewis explains in his book The Four Loves, storge is “affection,” the love that “almost slinks or seeps through our lives,” through “humble, un-dress, private things; soft slippers, old clothes, old jokes, the thump of a sleepy dog’s tail on the kitchen floor, the sound of a sewing-machine.”1 As a necessity that humans should experience in childhood, storge is the most organic form of love in that it is a natural comfortableness and satisfaction stemming from affection. Perhaps the best description of storge is that it is a humble love because it can coexist with other loves. For instance, a man who falls in love with a woman and marries her becomes a part of her family as much as she does his. By extension, the process of falling in love is not just through eros alone, but depends on a series of affections— personalities, hobbies, specific places, experience, and so forth— which make love a shared and familiar aspect of their lives. This familiarity is an important component of storge, and in fact, it is so inclusive that it can not only be seen between a mother and her child, but between a man and his dog or even between a dog and his housecat companion. 1.

InThe Four Loves, Lewis opens the disussion of the four loves with storge beginning in Chapter III.

Forged In Wax Chloe Duensing 2020

Icarus, Bhavana Kunnath, 2021

Singed from heat of an untamed fire, Ashes upon an extinguished pyre, Shackled in chains of my own blood forged, Gazing through eyes gruesomely gorged, I find myself alone at last: Concealed in shadows of my past Under the candle’s flame, wondering Why silence speaks, quiet yet thundering. Alone in a cell, my inevitable creation, I’ve discarded the key to my salvation. Willing, I entered—entrapped myself readily, Waiting here patiently, steadily so steadily. Once upon a time, my father commanded awe, Yet here in my ever after, there is nothing at all. With every drop of wax from the small, flickering flame, I rue the blackened wick for which my fate is to blame.

Blood is Thicker Than Water Adaeze Uzoije 2022

I love my family And there is no question So I did what they said And I learned what they taught I thought no one could do this better because ___ blood ___________ is thicker Than ___ water _________ I was taught this When I was 3 Surrounded by my family My loving family Who simply knew no Better

I applied this When I was 6 Surrounded by fear My loving siblings Left me for dead I questioned this When I was 9 Surrounded by strangers A nice girl like me Left me a flower

I cried to this When I was 12 Surrounded by my madness My loving family Still knew no better I reject this As I am here Surrounded by friends My loving friends Who do know better

I love my family And there is no question But I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t blindly follow The way of those Who do not know which way I want because The blood of brotherhood is thicker Than the water of the womb

Under bloody skies, Lillie Oliver, 2021

It Blue My Mind Anonymous

Red

Orange

The spoons were made of red plastic. They were long, the ones made for tall milkshake tins. My mother sat on the opposite side of the ice cream parlor, having her own fill of bubble tea as I perched in a booth across the way. When she was not looking, I scooted closer to my friend. Closer than a friend should. When my mother dug her nose into her book, I dared to slip my hand into the girl’s next to me. Under the table. Her palm was warm. Our hands were the perfect size, almost as if they were made to fit into each other’s. My mother thought nothing of the day. I was merely going out with a girl friend. In actuality, I was going out with my girlfriend. And she was none the wiser. Yellow

I told my father when we were on a walk. An orange sunset in the background, I shuffled down the sidewalk, hands firmly buried in my pocket. “Dad,” I began, and then I told him. No intro, no delicate lead in, just my rib cage suddenly pried apart to reveal my pounding heart. He smiled and laughed, said he was glad. “I was worried,” he continued. “You had always complained about boys not liking you. Are you going to tell your mother?” “No.” I shook my head. “That’s probably for the best.” And then I gained a defender, somebody who would cover for me, somebody who shot me sly smiles and glances whenever I arranged a “hangout.” Orange is my favorite color.

My girlfriend made the best yellow lemonade. She bought some rare type that could only be ordered from a certain store out of state. That’s what we drank all night when I convinced my mother to let me sleep over. My mother felt good because I was hanging out at a fellow girl’s house. I promised all we would do was play with her cat, dog, and game. And that happened. But of course, my mother had no idea that I also kissed her in front of her cat, her dog, and while we gamed. Her mother did, though.

Green I remember long car rides at night as my girlfriend gripped the glittery steering wheel to her car. The windows were rolled down, and we were blasting dubstep at two in the morning. Nothing to stop us but ourselves and our common sense. I had lied to my mother. I remember the pit of ice that had formed when she had said jokingly (but warningly) “sounds a bit like a date.” My stomach froze, my throat suddenly as cold as the ice cream of our first actual date, but my voice had emerged uninhibited. A laugh. “Yeah, no, nothing like that!” It hurt a little. But it was a safe type of hurt. And as the green light of traffic filtered into the car, I could not summon the courage to think about my mother or how she would react if she knew. So I just smiled and hollered some more to the wind.

Blue Her mother’s eyes are blue. She has blue eyes, too (but she closes them when our lips touch). I remember those eyes as we sat down on her couch. I had her cat in my lap. Her mother smiled at me pityingly. “Does your mother know?” I shook my head. “No, but my Dad does.” As if that would somehow appease her. It should have. “You should tell her.” Silence from the girl beside me. But she could never stand up to her mother, not now, not then, not any time. “Pardon?” Shocked tears welled up in my eyes. “If you don’t tell her, I will. She deserves to know.” One mother to another. I shook my head. “No, no, it’s really okay--” “I’m doing this for you.” I am not even sure what her name is. She was always just my girlfriend’s mother to me. Until she was not. And I never found out. (At least she never actually did it.)

Purple It was all downhill from there. I drowned in schoolwork as she drowned in a depression so deep that I did not dare brave the waters to save her. Her pills worked less, my patience wore thinner. I “forgot” to text her. She grew harsher with my faults. We did not go out anymore. The fire dwindled to ashes. And then one day, I quit. Purple is a mixture of red hot fire and the cooling shock of blue water. It drenched my soul. “What’s got you so down in the dumps? Is school stress getting to you?” my mother asked with a frown, giving me “The Look” that only mothers can give. The faint hum of the moving car filled the silence brought about by my hesitation. I finally shrugged. “No.” “Are you going to tell me what it is?” she asked expectantly. I told her a lot of things. But the words would not come. I choked on my cowardice. I sighed, turning to glance out the window. There were grey clouds. “You wouldn’t understand.”

ATC, Mayowa Odunjo, 2020

NuclearFamily Eillie Revillo, 2021

From the outside it seems we’re just perfectly normal A picture of a lifelong success But when you look closer beyond the fake walls We’re a parody of love; we’re a mess. This life we live is a ticking bomb. Of that, I have no doubt. For we are a nuclear family, And time is running out. We poke at the cracks, and worry the seams, Spit the words that will surely cause trouble. We don’t even care, for when it’s all done, We’ll be all that is left in the rubble. Is there even a point in trying to hope For a future that we cannot see? Can we, as a nuclear family, Escape our own tragedy? It’s like watching a show except we are the actors And the script is left blank, only mystery Make it up as we go, no matter the ending For our present will one day be history. We can see our world, crumbling to pieces. For now we will do what we must.. But we are a nuclear family, And soon we’ll be nothing but dust.

Uranium, Bhavana Kunnath, 2021

Philia

While love between lovers is fickle, the fondness between two friends, especially of the highest form, is immortal. This is the belief echoed by the ancient Greek philosophers, especially Aristotle. Philia, Aristotle describes, is not a passionate yearning like eros, but a brotherly love between two people. (The modern word for philia is bromance.) The modern-day notion of friendship emphasizes feeling, but Aristotle looks solely to intention. By this basis, he splits philia into three categories1: friendship of utility, friendship of pleasure, and friendship of the good. Friendship of utility, the lowest form of philia, is seen in both the animal kingdom and humans; in this way, it can be as short-lived as eros. It is essentially altruism, comradery derived from some benefit or usefulness of each other. Friendship of pleasure moves us out of the animal kingdom and into the world of kinship and values. However, it is as fickle as utility because this form of friendship relies on the pleasure derived from another’s actions and humor rather than the actual person. According to Aristotle, the highest form of friendship is based on the “good character of the other,”2 in which love is not only mutual but inspired in one another. There are several objective conditions required to meet this level of philia. First and foremost, one must love oneself, but not to a degree of egotism or arrogance. Secondly, both friends must be morally virtuous, for Aristotle argues that “love should be proportional,”3 and only good men “deserve the love of those below him.”4 Reciprocity, although not necessarily equal, is also a condition in Aristotle’s definition of friendship. Friendship of the good was held in great esteem by the ancient Greeks, for goodness is an enduring quality, and a friendship based on goodness, unlike the “lower” forms of love, focuses more on loving than being loved. In this way, it may take a lifetime to find a true friendship, but once found, it is held in high esteem and becomes unconditional. 1 2 3 4

Aristotle thoroughly discussed philia in Nicomachean

Ethics and Rhetoric.

“Aristotle on Love and Friendship” by David Konstan

Nicomachean Ethics, Book VIII, 7

Alexander Mosley, “The Philosophy of Love,” “Philia”

Playground Fairytales Chloe Duensing 2020

And Action! Once upon a time, there lived a fair lad in a boring land, searching for something more. He was a sad thing, like a wilted flower that nobody had watered in a long time. At home, it had always been my duty to water the flowers because my father always forgot. I never forgot anything. For example, I remember that once, my father had told me that if I ever saw somebody on the playground it was my duty to go up to them and say hi. Because at that age my father’s word was law, I found myself bound by his stupid platitudes and “bits of humble wisdom.” My father justified it by saying that sometimes, you just have to suck it up and go talk to someone, no matter how they look, because it was what was inside that mattered. See, my father used to read me fairy tales. I thought they were stupid: I mean, a pretty princess being saved by a pretty knight from a petty dragon? Lame. I enjoyed my stories realistic, which is to say, I despised most books I read as a child. The ones meant to inspire a child’s imagination and morals. And yet, I found myself enjoying modern day tales. Funny quips in the midst of battle? Stupid villains written for comedic effect? Cute princesses actually designed with character development and backstory? Amazing! Truly, my one addiction.

And then, all of a sudden, an opportunity fell into my lap. So once upon a time, I did. The scene was picturesque. A perfect setting for my heroic debut. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze curling around the playground. It was an ideal day. I had walked the short three-minute trip to the park and found myself on the outskirts of the sandbox when I heard it. “What, gonna go run home to your Mommy? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have one!” I glanced up, eyes fastening on the drama. Spilling tea? More like dumping the tea kettle. I circled the park to get a better view, grinning at what I saw. There was Mr. Bully, aka petty dragon, his poisonous flames flaring. Man, was he ugly. The pretty princess was a guy. He had obviously been knocked on his butt. Stuck staring up at the bully of the neighborhood, the poor dude definitely needed a helping hand. I crept closer eagerly. As I approached, I could see the tears beginning to well up in his eyes. “Shut up!” he yelped in the most unconvincing way. His voice trembled. A wonderful damsel-in-distress.

“What are you going to do, make me?” Dragon leaned forwards, a glint in his eyes that was too evil for somebody his age. The call for justice resonated in my bones, vibrating in my heart as I took a deep breath to still shaking fingers and knees. I only had one chance to make a good impression. I had practiced this a thousand times before a mirror. I could practically hear the whirr of imaginary cameras as they turned their focus to me. Good. Before the boy could open his mouth to give another weak response, I stepped into view. Turn the page, everyone, the protagonist has arrived. “I am.” My voice came out stronger than I had thought, and my resolve fixed me in place as I glared at Dragon with matching ferocity. Quick, pull out a one-liner from a TV show or something—“Don’t you have something better to do than push people around on a great day like this?”

Mediocre! I could’ve slapped myself if I wasn’t too busy trying to look cool. Dragon’s face pinched as if he had just been force-fed a lemon. “Yeah? And who are you?” I told him my name, crossing my arms. “Trust me bub, you don’t want to pick this fight. My father was the stunt double for Wolverine and let’s just say I picked up a few of his tricks.” I turned to the side, spitting in the playground dirt as I smirked. Yeah, that’ll show him. My bluff must have worked because Dragon began to back away. Cue dramatic ending music! But of course, before I could gloat in my success, Dragon narrowed his eyes. “I think I’ll take the chance.” And then the crazy guy was charging me, fists flying like some rabid ape.

Cut, cut, cut! Oi, I said cut! Ow. “Are you okay?” Princess asked with a worried frown. His eyebrows pinched together like a cartoon, and his worry was adorable. His skin was pale, not quite the porcelain alabaster that the stories said, but close enough. His hair was fair but short and scruffy. He wore torn clothes of a dirty kid rather than the silk of a fair maiden. Oh well, not everything could be perfect. “Mhm,” I grunted, groaning as I laid on my back in the sandbox. At least I hadn’t hit my head, but man, I felt like a loser. At least Dragon had finally left and hadn’t touched Princess. That was a win in my books. “Peachy. Dandy. A-okay. Absolutely fantabulous.” Princess was kneeling beside me, his fingers hovering over my already purpling bruises as if he was too scared to touch them. “Why’d you do that?” he asked shakily, the tears in his eyes spilling over. They traced clean tear tracks on his dirty cheeks. Oh man, I was supposed to save him—not make him cry! “Uh, because you needed saving? Duh?” I took a deep breath, sitting up. The ache was manageable. Dragon was a pushover. “It’s what I do. I’m a superhero, knight of justice, epic dude, thing.” I grinned, ignoring the pain as it stretched my split lip. Good job me, real eloquent. He smiled hesitantly. “Okay. My hero.” I smirked. “Exactly.” Satisfaction welled in my soul as I reviewed the day’s events: earned a villain to rise up against and defeat, got a damsel-in-distress that doubled as a friend. Perfect. I had forgotten something important. “What’s your name?” “Steven.” Steven watched me as if I was some strange new breed of human that he had never seen before. It was flattering. “Steven? Like with a ‘p-h’ or like a ‘v’ or like—” “With a ‘v.’” “Oh. Cool. I’ve never had a friend named Steven.”

Untitled, Joseph Holevenski, 2022

ALSO A PAGE NUMBER

Sunbeam Anonymous

Skies are red tonight Thoughts flood the head One lays sleeplessly in bed Brokenhearted Heart of lead The soul is caged Wrapped in thorns of wilted roses The rains have long stopped here The soil is polluted From wars against it convoluted But one day, the sun reached in The weary one saw a soldier With reckless abandon, the soldier walks Armed only with a smile and the kind way he talks The shriveled soul within Now sees not what might have been But sunshine for the future Sunshine of mine Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve known pain, friend Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve known sorrow But I hope to walk with you into tomorrow

Untitled, Nhu Mai Vu, 2022

My Friend Above Justice Sconiers ‘2020

You were with me when I was at my worst—broken beyond repair. When the chains of anxiety slithered around me, formed a noosed, and hung me. Before I met you, all I ever knew was how to be sad. I grew up a product of guilt and depression and thoughts of never being good enough echo through my mind like the annoying sound of a tennis ball in an intense tennis match. These thoughts soon formed paths that entangled me in countless addictions and footholds that led me to overlook an early grave custom fit for me. I carried daily the stench of regret no matter how long I bathed in my tears and misery or sprayed the sweet aroma of bitterness. However, when I met you the thrashing tornado of life became a calm breeze. And for that I’m thankful for you. Blending into the shadows of my insecurities, I once stood observing the obnoxious smell of happiness and joy—something I never thought I would obtain. However, when I first met You, I found everything I always wanted in you. Someone who stilled the craziness of my world. You came into my life at the right time. At a time when my heart began unraveling as divorce manifested into my life, and as my parents began to split, and I was

forced to live a double life. Through it all you kept me whole. Even when my mental state began to crumble and living another day became unbearable and the greatest challenge I would ever face. Even when the only way I could sleep was through crying myself my to sleep. Even when the monster in the mirror was scarier than any terrifying monster that existed under the bed. Through it all, the laughters we shared smooth and soften the bullets of betrayal that pierced my fragile heart. The memories we shared—both good and bad—made life enjoyable and no longer did I find myself weighed down by guilt and shame, but I found myself free in your presence. Now, looking back on life—and its lessons—I don’t know where I would be without a friend like you Jesus.

PAGE NUMBER

ALSO A PAGE NUMBER 22

My “Friend” Below Justice Sconiers ‘2020

There are few people that I don’t like you’re at the top of my list. Whenever I look at you now, my stomach turns inside out and I vomit disgust and dislike. I remember—the era of mistakes - when we were friends. I deeply trusted you and found our time somewhat enjoyable. However, you became too needy and wanted more of my time, mind, and even my heart. We just simply weren’t that compatible anymore. You reek of death and disease—and that’s just the bright side. The more I began to look at who you were the more hideous monster within you was exposed. You are simply the worst. You are simply a fraud. You are simply a nightmare. Sure, when I first met you, I thought that we could be the best of friends. However, your neat facade broke down I saw who simply were. Someone who was a manipulator, liar, and deceiver. The more time I spent with you the more I hated being a copy of you. I began to live reckless, lie, and steal. I began to enjoy talking about others behind their back and pulling others

down so that I could get a better look at success. Instead of choosing my independence and individuality, I regretfully chose to follow you and be ensnared and entangled in you. Sadly, I didn’t realized I was caught up in countless addictions and slave to my crippling fear of loneliness. Through it all, you laughed and mocked me calling me a mistake and a waste of life. You taught me that I am nothing and I will always be nothing. Luckily, I met a new, better friend someone who was way better than you. He taught me that I’m wonderfully and fearfully made and that I have a purpose. He gifted me with life, peace, and joy, and he was always there for me when life had its mountains and valleys. Naturally, you were jealous that I was spending more time with some else. Of course, you try to tempt me and lure me back into being your best friend, but I could never downgrade myself and be with friends with you Satan.

Dear GSMST,

“You already know it’s senior season guys!” Do you know how many times I heard that in August? Sheesh, you would have thought that was the new “It’s LIT!” The past three years has been one rocky road with you, GSMST. Our friendship is non- traditional, but beautiful in its own torturesome way. Do you remember when we used to go to McDonald's freshmen year and sophomore year until we got “money money” and decided we were too good for the likes of Mickey D's Sweet Tea, and instead we started spending our hard earn money, from our parents, for some Arnold Palmers at Chick Fil A? The laughs we shared there are everlasting and gut-wrenching. The amount of times we should have gotten kicked out is outstanding! I also remember in freshmen year you showed me the beauty of everyone walking down your hallways at my first International Night, and I was mesmerized by all the cultures.

Emily Pena, 2021

You basically put me on! That experience drove me to want to participate from that year forward. It showed me that there was no need to be ashamed of my multicultural background because there are others just like me who will accept my differences. As friends should, you helped me make decisions that were best for me, and as an abiding friend, I did not listen to you, of course. Instead, I chose to surround myself with those who were not following the path that was intended for us. They almost persuaded me to leave you. But like a snitch, you told my mom and she took your side and forced me to remain focused. Even though I have resentment in my heart, I am grateful every day for that decision. You know, you really got on my nerves when you tried my life with chemistry and science fair. Like, it was all fun and games until you told me that both of my science fair partners dropped out. You didn’t even warn me! That was wild, and

Jehan Sheikh, 2021

I kinda wasn’t expecting that at all. It caught me all off guard, but you drove me to persevere through the tough times and dip outta there with the quickness. Thanks for putting up with my countless tantrums and midnight crisis’, you’re an OG for that. So many nights, I threw all my books in my bookbag and said “I’m not doing this work because I’m going to drop out anyway,” but you woke me up at 2 AM to tell me, “get up, you’re not going anywhere except that stage at graduation, so if I were you, I would get this AutoCAD design done then figure out how to calculate thermal conductivity.” GSMST, you gave me many opportunities that I would not have realized that I needed to achieve the goals I didn’t know I had. Through my JFE, I got to work with big companies in Atlanta which helped me realize that I want to be a part of a corporation someday, and for my SCE you allowed me to use VITA as my internship which gives me access to IRS documents and learn how to file taxes.

Joanlis Martinez, 2021

Talem Damene, 2022

This has tailored my interest in careers towards forensic accounting, and I would not have known I would love it so much if I hadn’t signed up for VITA out of disgust because all my friends signed up the year before without letting me know. Fake friends, all a bunch of frauds, I tell you. Thank you for coming through when I need you. But as they say, “all good things must come to an end,” and it looks like the end is near for us, finally. I mean I’m going to miss you, but I’ve actually had senioritis since AP Bio if we’re going to be honest. It wasn’t all terrible, for the most part, you have set me up to accomplish all my dreams and aspirations and I am grateful for you. Truly. Although you beat some of my friends up, took their hair, took their sleep, and their freedom, we kept you around because we appreciated how you believed in us despite the odds.

Alyeah McAllister, 2022

Goodbye GSMST, Yentil Nicolas 2019

Teaghan Bendzin, 2022

Untiitled, Adaeze Uzoije, 2022

Eros

The term Eros, which the Greeks referred to as “romantic love,” was the name of the god of love1, the son of Aphrodite. Contrary to Plato’s writings, which suggested that eros was a desire that sought transcendental beauty, eros was more commonly known as “sexual desire” outside the Platonic-vein of philosophy. Nonetheless, philosophers recognized that eros was linked to emotions, and in turn, could influence judgement and reasoning. Some writers hold the same sentiments today. For example, C.S. Lewis, in regards to the four loves, wrote that eros was relatively neutral: it can turn the need-based pleasure of Venus2 into “the most appreciative of pleasures” but has a tendency to cloud one’s judgement and turn into a chaotic, selfish god. Percy Sledge, in his most famous song, “When a Man Loves a Woman,” expresses how intense eros can be at its best moment, so strong that a man will “turn his back from his best friend.” Indeed, at its strongest, eros is chaotically passionate. In Plato’s Symposium, it is recognized as a phenomenon that inspires great deeds and causes men to transcend their earthly origins3. It is eros that drives many Greek myths and even Shakespearean tragedies. It is eros that leads a writer to write, a musician to sing, and a man to love.

The Roman equivalent, which many of us may be more familiar with, is Cupid. 2 Venus is the Greek name for Aphrodite; in The Four 3

Loves, C.S. Lewis refers to Venus as “the carnal or ani -mally sexual desire of eros.”

Phaedrus, in his speech, praises love: “Possession by l love would infuse even utter cowards with courage.”

One for My Baby Amber Bozeman 20‘19

The most interesting person I’ve ever met happened to be a woman sitting on the metal seat of a bus stop, nothing but a briefcase in her lap. That summer, I recall the year was 1972, had been a nightmare for gas prices, so I found myself taking the bus just to save myself from the waste of money on gas and the waste of time spent waiting in line. I walked to the bus stop and took a seat, taking out a newspaper and watching as the world seemingly burned around me, every tabloid and story about some tragedy in the country. I was used to sitting next to strangers, occasionally making small talk but usually remaining silent. But this woman turned to me and tapped my shoulder, putting on a big smile. “Hey there, stranger,” she said, squeezing the briefcase on her lap and tapping her foot. “Waiting as well, I presume? From the looks’a you I wouldn’t pin you as the poor type. Probably have a car. Just don’t wanna be payin’ for gas?” I was surprised by her perceptive skills. “Why, yes, actually.” She nodded as if she already knew she was right.

“Mind if I tell you a story? You just missed the last bus. We got plenty’o time to kill.” I checked my watch. She was right—I’d just missed the bus I should’ve taken to

work. But I was sick of reading the paper at this point.

“Why, sure. What kind of story did you have in mind?” She grinned, as if relieved that I’d said yes. “See, couple years ago I was tourin’ the city up north. I used to work as a travelling saleswoman—terrible job, can’t recommend it. ‘Specially not so easy as a girl doin’ it, sellin’ supplies to pasty old dudes who couldn’t care less about ya. Well, I was s’posed to be selling some fancy new engine tech to a car company. I go into the lobby and--get this--I see this girl sitting in there, cute as can be, lookin’ angry outta her mind. I’m bored and, bein’ the social type I am, I go to ask her what’s up. “‘Why the long face?’ I say. She looks at me and that frown of her’s just gets bigger and bigger. ‘Cause the world’s a mess and so is this business. Sold me a car that can barely go a mile before breakin’ down.’ Already I like her. Fierce, passionate. Came all the way to the company headquarters just for a refund. Who does that? So, I let her know why I’m there, and that hopefully that new engine I’m sellin’ will be able to fix her problem. She don’t look too ecstatic, though. Can’t get over how mad she is. But she seems friendly, so I offer her my card and let her know where I’m stayin’—gonna be in town for a bit, might as well see if she

wants to get a drink, ya know?” I was shocked by her sheer openness— most people would keep these kinds of details to themselves. Yet, for some reason, judging by the sheer enthusiasm she had while telling the story, I found myself wanting to know where she was going with it. “So, I go do the sales, and whaddya know, I’m talkin’ with the head C.E.O. of the company! And guess what he says to me? Says his engines work fine! What timing, am I right? So I bring up the girl I met in the lobby, hoping to get some leverage on ‘im. Clearly his engine’s aren’t workin’ fine if she’s that up-in-arms about it! Well, Mr. C.E.O. didn’t like this too much, but he offered to meet with me again. So maybe I got a hook—who knows. Well, later that night, I get a call, and guess who it’s from?” She paused, staring at me, waiting for me to answer her obvious question. “The girl from the lobby?” I answered after a brief silence. “Yes it is! Tells me she’s in town and bored out of her mind, jus’ like me, so she wants to go out! So, we meet up at this diner. She tells me she’s been on the road for a bit, goin’ from car to car and place to place just tryin’ to find a good time. That’s why the car matters to her so much—she needs it to get her around!” “How does she pay for that kind of lifestyle?” I asked, finding myself invested. “That’s the thing! Turns out her dad is rich. Like, rich rich. But he passed away— some hereditary syndrome—and now all she’s got is his money and nothing to do

with it. So, she hits the road. Then, she meets me. We talk and talk that night--I mention how awful sales is, she mentions how boring life is. Ends up stayin’ the night with me in my hotel--it was that or her crappy ol’ car. And lemme tell ya’, this girl is a sweetheart. Yes, my baby was quite the sweetheart. “So, later I get a call in my room from Mr. C.E.O. Wants another meeting, right? I mention to my baby how her story about the car was helpin’ me out, so she—get this—she offers to follow me into the meetin’! Wants to meet the C.E.O. herself! What a girl. So, I agree, and in we go. And it goes great! She details her problems—seems she knows way more about cars than I ever thought she woulda. And she can tell a story! C.E.O. is enthralled the whole way through! Before I know it, we’re signing a deal to get those new engines I was sellin’ in his cars! “Later that night, though—get this, C.E.O. gives my room another call. Asks me if I know where the girl is now. Now, I sure do know where is, she’s wrappin’ her arms around me. But it don’t sound like that’s what he wants to hear. Starts lookin’ like Mr. C.E.O. fancies my baby. Now, I don’t blame him—she’s gorgeous, gracious, I’d be shocked if anyone didn’t fancy her. But it don’t look like she’s the kind to want to be with him, or any hims for that matter. So I don’t know what to say. I tell ‘im ‘yeah, yeah I

know her.’ And get this—he asks if I can let ‘er know he wants to have dinner with her!” She paused to laugh. “So, I tell him, ‘Sure! I’ll be sure to let her know!’ And she’s listening in the whole time, ear next to mine, tryin’ not to laugh her head off!” I let out a small chuckle to make the girl’s plague of laughter less awkward. “Now, she don’t want to see him—I mean obviously not. Even if he were a girl, she’s not one for the big C.E.O. type. So, she comes up with a silly plan—to call him herself and let ‘im know she’s in the room with me. Now I would’ve loved to make the old man angry like that, but I don’t wanna ruin this deal like that. So, I tell my baby it’s a nogo. She disappointed, but she understands. “I call Mr. C.E.O. and let ‘im know she’s not interested. But he ain’t having that. Insists I send her his way. And what am I gonna do? How do I let this poor boy down? I get a good idea—lie! So I tell ‘im she’s already left town, new car and everything. Little does he know she’s right next to me. “So after that she asks me somethin’ sweet—asks me to follower ‘er around. Join her in that crappy car and hit the road. What a sweetheart. How can I say no? Issue is, I can’t live like her. I need’ta work. Need a job. But she’s got money—never needs to work a day. Then I remember—she’s got money. So, I ask her somethin’. Ask her to help me start somethin’—a charity. Charity for people

with nowhere to go. Place for people all around with no money, no food, no work, no car, nothin’ to live for to come and get a new start. She never said nothin’ about it, but a kiss was her way of sayin’ yes.” “We spent years together after that.” She looked down at the briefcase on her lap, smiling warmly. “Everyday an adventure. Started with a small little building, but started to get investors. Got bigger and bigger. I met so many people in that shelter, all around the world, all with their own stories. Turns out, everyone’s got a story. You’ve just gotta listen. But get this. New man comes into the shelter lookin’ to invest, and guess who it is?” Once again she stares at me, waiting for me to guess. “The car company C.E.O.?” “Ding ding ding! Mr. C.E.O.! There he is! And guess who’s the first he sees? Me and my baby, holdin’ hands! Turns out he didn’t just fancy my baby—he didn’t fancy the idea of two ladies holdin’ hands. Could just see it on his ugly face.” She scowled now, ryling herself up. “But he tries to hide it. Smiles and nods. And comes in with a big ol’ donation-some false way of winning my baby’s heart. But she don’t care about things like that. And does it just bother him. Creep keeps on comin’ into the shelter, talkin’ to the homeless, talkin’ to my baby. Now he’s startin’ to irk me. And he irks her too! One day she comes home to me cryin’ her poor eyes out. I ask her what’s wrong but she won’t answer. But I know she met with him—she told me she was gonna before it happened. Now I

just can’t stand this. But soon… soon I got bigger issues.” She looked down at the briefcase again and closed her eyes. “Imagine my face when I come home one day to find my baby passed out on the ground, drooling out the mouth… Doctors tell me she’s sick. Only had a few weeks with her before I saw my last night with my baby.” I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was stare at her, shocked. Why was she telling me this? I didn’t know. But soon enough I’d find out. “Are you a man of God, stranger?” she said, finally turning to me and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why of course,” I replied. She smiled a sorrow smile. “I consider myself a woman of God. And I know everything He’s done to me is somethin’ in his plan, and I know my own actions fit into that plan. But… but it’s hard to understand when you’re goin’ through so much. I was in a dark place when I lost my baby… So… So imagine my frustration when Mr. C.E.O. stomps through that shelter door with a ‘cease and desist’ or whatever it’s called. Apparently my baby had been funnelling money from his company for years. Now, this don’t make any sense. I may not have been as smart as my baby, but I’d done a whole lot ‘o the numbers myself, and I know we had no money comin’ from any crappy car dealership! But who are the lawyers gonna side with? The big man C.E.O. or the poor widow? “So there he goes. Takes all the money,

takes the building, takes it all. Takes everything I built with my baby and shuts it all down.” She was now beginning to tear up, still staring at the briefcase. I wanted to comfort her, but what could I have said? What could I have done? “Like I said, stranger,” she began again, wiping her eyes with her wrist. “I was in a dark place when I lost her. So, I took myself a hammer and found Mr. C.E.O’s car. Wasn’t easy to find it, turns out he lives out in the suburbs, right around here, actually. I tore that car apart, stranger. I ripped it to shreds. Then I took off. Had to do some thinking… clear my head. And in that time of thinking, I heard a voice, stranger. Couldn’t tell who’s it was--could’ve been my baby’s, could’ve been the lord Himself’s. But it—” She started to choke up on her own words. “—t let me know I’d be seeing my baby real soon, stranger.” She wiped her eyes. What could I have said? How could I have helped. Before I could do anything she punched in a code and clicked open the briefcase, revealing a small pistol and a group of bullets. “Lucky for me, I know that Mr. C.E.O.’s got a missing car, so looks like he’s gotta take the bus! And I happen to know he lives right around here.” She picked up the pistol

and began loading two bullets into it, speaking as she did. “That’s one for my baby,” she said, methodically putting the metal into the gun, “and one for the road.” She put the loaded gun back into the briefcase and shut it before smiling wide at me, the bus stopping in front of us.

“You hoppin’ on?” I could only stare at her, frozen on the bus-stop seat. “Suit yourself.” The bus door opened and she skipped on before turning to me and smiling gleefully. “See you around, stranger.” The door shut and the engine of the bus started to roar before chugging forward, a thick cloud of emission following behind it. I could have stopped her, or done something, but I didn’t, and to this day I ask myself why. I fear the true answer. Either way, I watched that bus take off that summer morning, never to see her again--only ended up hearing about her in the paper the morning after, which I read waiting at the bus-stop, before closing the pages and tossing them away. I was tired of the news anyway--everyone had a story they wanted to tell, but I was simply sick of listening.

“...’everyone had a story they wanted to tell, but I was simply sick of listening.”

To Love A Poet Thanh Nguyen 2019

Coffea, Thanh Nguyen, 2019

I. We are made of little things, promises we cannot keep, the forgotten and the ignored. I am made of coffee and dog eared books that flap whenever you pass by. You are made of nothing. nothing at all, except dreams I cannot chase. But I see you, Galatea, a pretty statue overlooking the ocean. I cannot help but fall in love, for you smell of sea and earth, of blue hurricanes and fickle dust devils. You must know I was raised a poet, and hell is a place I often travel to. Let me be Dante, tired and starry-eyed, gazing upon your gate.

II. I drink coffee that tastes like lingering cigarettes, a sentimental sense of late-night talks that go nowhere and friends that do. I drink coffee that is as black as the shades I wear indoors (it matches my dark mood that way). I drink coffee because itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s easier to redefine love over caffeine than ethanol. But coffee aside (I know Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m an addict), regard me as a simple fool: a fool without much to give and a heart that does not want much more than necessity, perhaps only the words of a poet too memorable to be penned, too forgettable to think otherwise. And you. As far as necessities go, coffee, poetry, and you.

III. Hush now, will you? Take my silence and dance to the ruffling of the nightingale’s feathers, the beating of our hearts (oh how they bleed the rhythm of a poet’s words). under the flickering of a streetlamp is where I’ll kiss you, so you’ll always remember that in the thumping cadence of a still, still night, I loved you with the strength of a thousand moons.

The Captain Bhavana Kunnath 2021

An empty cabin room. The wood of the walls is ancient and it creaks often. Dim moonlight filters through an open window. It is night. THE CAPTAIN sits in a worn red armchair and leans towards the fire blazing in the fireplace. THE BOY sits in another chair to the right of the fire and watches THE CAPTAIN blankly. An old grandfather clock ticks loudly behind them. THE BOY: (emotionless) Why does a captain go down with his ship? THE CAPTAIN: (without taking his eyes

off of the fire while itching his gray stubble)

A vessel at sea is bound to stray into iridescent calamity when the scales of golden sun veil its path. When a drunken man has trapped himself in an endless Volta do Mar, he cannot wake his slithering tongue from its ignorant slumber and his ship strays at the hands of the wind. A ship adrift in the sea can sail in a straight line, but a ship adrift in the mind can never straighten its course through time. A ship that finds itself in such a predicament will surely sink at the hands of a sailor who mars even the stars by blinking up at them with his blind eyes. When the hull of such a ship fractures under a crackling of light, when it cracks like the glass of a golden compass smashed against the deck, what is a captain to do?

The fire crackles loudly, almost as if it to warn them. Neither THE BOY or THE CAPTAIN take notice, or if they do they don’t seem to care.

THE BOY: (his blue eyes glint, almost menacingly, at THE CAPTAIN’s) Why does a captain go down with his ship? THE CAPTAIN: (his eyes are glazed over as though he was recalling a memory) The men of the ship can bear the weight of the oceans pain, they can swallow the sorrowful soliloquies of the sirens, they could stand to let the sea’s salt corrode their souls but the sight of turbulent waves infiltrating their wooden alter, their last haven from the wrath of nature, is the one thing no man could bear to behold. That great leviathan that creeps at the back of every sailor’s mind threatens to capsize their sanity as it bounds at the speed of the pouring water to that wretched garden that flourishes at the front of the conscious. It swallows the crew’s reason, man’s God-given gift and his only protection from madness brought on by the incessant roll of the sea. Under its ruinous reign, the crew panics and awakens in the Captain a chaos-drenched pain as his ship begins disappearing rapidly beneath him. The crew hurriedly clambers into the liferafts to whose sides they cling and they can do nothing but bear witness as their fearful cries are drowned by the woeful wail of the creaking wooden boards. The great vessel wrenches in half. The soles of the captain’s boots are left standing above nothing but an inky blue abyss. His men call for him safely aboard their promise of salvation their sono-

Beaches, Thomas Drew Spight, 2022

rous voices howling in repentance, begging for guidance. What is a captain to do but board the life raft? What is a captain to do but heed his men’s call?

A log from the fire rolls out of the fireplace and onto the carpet. A flame begins slowly snaking its way across the carpet. Neither THE CAPTAIN nor THE BOY reacts. Through the window, the audience can see that the moon has set and the dark blue of the night sky is beginning to lighten. THE BOY: (his electric-blue eyes are piercing now but he is still emotionless) Why does a captain go down with his ship? THE CAPTAIN: When a man’s heart has been bound to a vessel so deeply as this captain’s, to lose a ship is to lose his own life. Standing at the bow of a pathetic little liferaft, disoriented and mentally detached from his crew, the captain cannot help but watch as the tip of the majestic sail dipped beneath the azure waves. A storm brewed suddenly in the captain’s mind with a roar that dwarfed the clamor of even the tumultuous leviathan. Anger and anguish tore at his soul from below glutting themselves on the grief that poured out and he fell to his knees. Face stricken in horror and disbelief he leaned forward peering past the walls of the bow into the water. Though it was warped by the dancing of light in the waves he could make out the features of the figurehead of the ship, an aureate mermaid whose gentle face seemed to writhe in agony. The maiden’s delicate face twisted as if

she was drowning, as if she was dying. A guttural noise arises from deep within the captain, a noise so inhumanely animalistic that even he would have been startled by it if he could retract his consciousness from his trance-like state. He launches himself into the sea. Desperately he propels himself towards the towards the ship slipping away beneath him. In his mania, he forgets to take in air before submerging himself and his lungs gulp sea water greedily. With each draught he imbibes, he felt a fresh supply of salt eroding his vocal cords. The men grab his legs and drag him back to the raft struggling to maintain their grip as he kicks and struggles against their efforts. In the end, it takes the combined effort of six men to drag the crazed captain back aboard against his will and pin him down long enough for a seventh man to force the sea water out of his lungs. Bubbles of air rose up from the wreck below. To him, they sounded like his maiden’s swan song. What is a captain to do but watch on with an open eye when he is robbed of the sweet deliverance of death?

The Grandfather clock chimes deeply three times. The flames are spreading rapidly across the carpet now. Sparks leap onto the curtains. Oddly enough, their chairs are untouched and neither THE CAPTAIN nor THE BOY appears phased. THE BOY: (maintaining his burning blue eyes and his eerily robotic demeanor) Why does a captain go down with his ship?

THE CAPTAIN: (eyes still trained on the warm flames in the hearth) They sail and they sail in a half-hearted manner and in time they reach land, ah the sweet call of liberation. When their feet fall on earth, the crew thanks God for his gracious ‘mercy’ and with their cracked lips, they kiss the sand softly. On land, the crew finds salve for their sunburnt skin, and as the years pass by the men’s legs cease to sway to the rhythm of the sea, but oh the old captain he never forgets. His men rejoice and prosper while spinning tales of intrigue about the ill-fated voyage. In the eyes of the people, they become heroes beyond the reach of even the romantics. Yet, the captain cannot be imbued with silvery glory in his heart for this Pyrrhic victory has left him a man with a thousand stinging cuts across his tongue, a hollow desert stretching across his vocal chords, and a chasm betwixt his ribs. How can a man find his land legs when his heart lies at the bottom of the sea?

The fire has begun climbing up the walls. The orange glow of sunrise has begun creeping up the sky. THE BOY: Why does a captain go down with his ship? THE CAPTAIN: Decades pour upon him like torrents of rain that leave water pooling and dragging his skin down to mark his age. Numbers, ranks, faces, and days have blown past his course cheeks like ocean pray in the wind. The decks beneath his feet and the ships assigned to his name have

changed time and time again, yet none could compare to the gold caravel whose only true cargo was calamity. Though in the streets he walks as though he were a whole man holding his head high to sell the lie that his mind was still fully intact, behind his eyes there remained only self-deception for sleep had not graced his reddened eyes a single night since. Under the guise of a million dreams undreamt that great creature that slithers at the back of every sailor’s mind whispered to him of things locked beyond the glassy sea. Heeding that ungodly creature’s call, he rows himself out in a small cutter once every year on the very hour that marks that dark turn of fate. One man alone in all the great ocean. A soulless vagabond sweeping the sea for his dear, for his death, for his deliverance. He searches the water in calm desperation begging for his maiden to come back to him. With no crew to stop him or pull him aboard prematurely he circles for hours the site of a disastrous wreck lying thousands of feet out of reach and for what? For what? What good does it do him to suffer like this in the heat of the cruel sun? All that is left in his hands is salt and the swill of the sea. What is a man to do but search for salvation that never was his? THE BOY: (his eyes piercing into THE CAPTAIN’s soul) WHY DOES A CAPTAIN GO DOW-

The flames have consumed everything around them now. The Grandfather clock

35 ALSO A PAGE NUMBER

Beaches, Thomas Drew Spight, 2022

can be heard ringing loudly but it too is hidden behind a wall of flames. The orangeypink light of day has overtaken the sky. THE CAPTAIN can only see THE BOY’s eyes piercing into his through the wall of flames. A man awakens suddenly in his therapist’s office drenched in cold sweat. He seems bewildered and disoriented by his sudden return to consciousness. He moves quickly pushing himself up into a sitting position but his therapist pats him gently on the shoulder and eases him back down. The therapist takes a seat across from him with a mug of warm coffee in one hand and pencil and pad in the other. DR. LUCIAN: But you still haven’t answered me. Why does a captain go down with his ship?

In the glaring white light of the office, DR. LUCIAN’s eyes shine blue.

“Why does a Captain go Down with his ship?”

36 PAGE NUMBER

Lamentations For Renee Chloe Duensing 2020

Dear Renee The moment I Walked into the store And you asked If you could Help me

Ilyyy, Lillie Olliver, 2021 I knew You were the one.

Dear Renee Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re so beautiful Magnificent I want To know everything About you So I asked How Your day was And whether You liked Italian You said Your day was good And that you did not like Italian But I did So we went to eat Italian Dear Renee

I was wondering Why you never Texted back Is there something I am doing Wrong? I know My number might be Blocked But you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t Block my love Why must You Insist on Ignoring me? Did you not Like The Italian? Because I did Dear Renee I see you in your store Today Yesterday Tomorrow Right now You are talking to Customers I am a customer Why do you reply To them And not Me? Is there something I am doing wrong? Dear Renee I found your number On the storeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s website. It says Only for work But my work Is trying to Love you. I just want to go Eat Italian again With you. Why Why do you not like Italian? Or Do you not like me? I do not know Why You would not like me My Renee Because I am very likeable In my opinion Dear Renee

I thought We had A

Connection Are you Trying to Make me Jealous? Because I am Please Do not talk to them Only talk To me We do not need Them at our Dinner Dear Renee I am hurt. Why did you hit me? I came through the front door! That’s what you’re supposed to do, Right? Do not worry I love you Almost as much As you love Italian I make Italian daily For you Now That I love you That I live with you Handmade love Is the best love Dear Renee You do not need to Work at that store anymore Talk to anybody anymore Do anything anymore Love me?? Sh Shhh Shh I can’t write A letter to you When you scream So Loud Shut up Shh I can’t cook For you When you’re So L Oud. Dear Renee They will not Bother You, Us, Anymore I made

Sure of it We will

Be alone Together Forever Because I know That secretly You do like Italian Don’t say that you Do not care about me And that you never have But I know You are just playing Coy

Dear Renee

Well, Not anymore

]

I Found Your Address oh it’s so very easy to do so nowadays Isn’t it? So I Decided To Come Give You A Gift. I gifted you With my Presence. A present For you. Dear Renee

I made too much Sauce For the Meatballs But i know you love Italian food

Dear Renee Shh

XOXO

<3, Lillie Olliver, 2021

Backstreet Boys Leanna Nguyen 2019 Dear Diary, Where is my lobster? According to Phoebe’s Theory of Lobsters, lobsters fall in love and mate for life. So, where is my lobster? Where is my soulmate? A lot of people don’t believe in soulmates, but I do. And, I also believe that soulmates share a song together. How do I know that? Back when Dad and Mom were in high school, they never saw each other until their ninth grade homecoming dance. It was towards the end of the dance when “You Are Not Alone” by Michael Jackson was playing, and Dad spotted Mom alone across the room. Dad decided to make a move and walked across the room and asked her to slow dance with him. Ever since then, they have been. Look, I know what you are thinking, Diary. I know my soulmate just won’t magically pop up in my apartment and we would fall in love. I am just so tired of going out with my friends and meeting guys who only use me. I just want to find a guy who not only can I call my boyfriend, but my best friend. I want to be with someone who loves me for me. Someone who loves his family as much as I love mine. Someone who isMy hands were shaking as I dropped my pen. Confused at what I just heard, I crept along the bedroom wall to the door, listening for any other sounds. Laying my right ear as flat as I could on the door, I heard the crisp sounds of someone stepping on broken glass. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The thought of someone breaking into my apartment made my hands sweat out of control. I knew time was crucial, and that I needed to call for help as soon as possible before the intruder knows that someone, me, is inside the apartment. I could feel the goosebumps crawl from my wrists all the way up my arm as I looked around my room for my phone, but I couldn’t find it. I laughed in disbelief as I find it ironic how the day I really need my phone it’s nowhere to be found. There were only two possible places that I could have left my phone: in my bathroom or next to the kitchen sink. Letting out a big sigh, I prayed that my phone was in my bathroom because if it wasn’t, I would have to go down to the kitchen which is located right next to the living room where the intruder was. Knowing that I was only a 23-yearold girl living alone in an apartment, I should have planned out an escape plan for any situation like this, but I didn't. In my defense, I never thought this would ever happen in a gated community, but now I know. Before I headed out of my bedroom, I grabbed the baseball bat that was located next to my dresser and prepared myself for what would happen next. My knees felt like jelly as I silently walked over

to my bathroom; when I got there, I quickly scanned the room for my phone. My heart dropped. My phone wasn’t in the bathroom, meaning that it was in my kitchen. I stood in my bathroom and debated whether I should just hide in my closet and wait for them to leave or I should grab my phone from the kitchen. Both choices were huge risks. I decided it was better for me to try to get help as soon as possible than wait in my closet to see what would happen. So, I grabbed my bat with both my sweaty hands and started to head down the stairs. At one point while I was going down my stairs, I had to place one of my hands over my mouth because I was heavily breathing fast out of fear. I was afraid the intruder would hear me. When I reached to the bottom of my stairs, I could see him in the corner of my living room still going through my cabinets. I could tell he has never robbed a place before. He didn’t check to make sure anyone was in the apartment. His head wasn’t covered with a mask. He wasn’t wearing any gloves. What is he even doing? What kind of idiot

doesn’t wear a mask when robbing somewhere? What was he looking for?

I stared at him for a little longer until I realized what I was supposed to be doing. I scanned my eyes around my kitchen and my heart skipped a beat when I spotted my phone right next to the kitchen sink. I quickly looked back at the intruder. He was too consumed in the song that he was humming.

I knew it was my chance to get my phone, and so I crept over to my sink and grabbed it. Midway dialing 911, I froze when I realized what we was humming. “Every little thing that you have said and done feels like it’s deep within me.” He was singing my song - our song. “Doesn’t really matter if you’re on the run. It seems like we’re meant to be.” He had the voice of an angel that pulled me towards him. As he sang, I stood right behind him watching his reflection of his face on the TV screen. He was so handsome. There he was, my soulmate, singing his heart out. I couldn’t let him sing alone. Afterall, it was a band who sang our song. I begin with him. “I don’t care who you are. Where you’re from. What you did. As long as you love…..” I stopped singing when he spun around, and before he could even say anything, I raised up the bat with both my hands and struck him on his head, knocking him out. I knew I only had a couple minutes until he regained consciousness so I picked up his heavy body and laid him on my couch. I ran as fast I could to my room and grabbed a zip tie to tie his hands together. I felt like I was on cloud nine as I was tying his hands together. I finally found my soulmate and now, him and I will be together forever. He gained consciousness after a couple minutes. “I..I...I’m so sorry.” “Don’t worry, my lobster, I forgive you.” “What do you mean you forgive me? I literally broke into your house.” “Oh, don’t worry about it, my love. We are soulmates. Soulmates always forgive each other.” “Look, lady. We are not soulmates. I’m sorry I broke into your apartment. I just needed money to continue my mom’s treatment for chemo. We really need it.”

“Wow. You love your mom a lot, don’t you? Just my kind of man.” I could feel the corners of my mouth rising as I looked at him. I could stare at his chiseled face all day. “Please, lady. Let me go. I’m so sorry.” “Why would I let my soulmate go? We are in love. Don’t worry I won’t report you to the police.” I turn around and start to prepare dinner for us. I have never been happier. Here I am, finally united with my love. I hope he loves chicken alfre-

do.

During the time I was making dinner, we had small talks here and there, and after thirty minutes dinner was ready. I spun around and was about to set up the table when I saw him standing in front of me with a gun pointing at me. We looked into each other eyes before he said, “I’m sorry.”

Untitled, Gannon Zachery, 2019

Philautia

Philautia, or love of self, can be healthy or unhealthy,

depending on the degree. The Roman philosophers, particularly Cicero, viewed extreme self-love as mostly self-destructive. As an illustration, one of the longest surviving Greek myths is that of Narcissus. In Ovid’s version,1 Narcissus was the son of Cephissus and Liriope, known for his beauty. He had countless admirers, but his cruelty and disdain at those who loved him caused some to commit suicide. Narcissus's string of rejected lovers attracted the attention of Nemesis, the goddess of vengeance, and she proceeded to punish him by causing him to fall in love with his own reflection. Unable to tear his eyes from his own image, he died by unrequited love, an extreme love of himself. What we perceive today as philautia is a different concept from the Greeks’ take on Narcissus and selflove. Aristotle recognized the healthy form of philautia in his Nicomachean Ethics when addressing the degrees of philia: “All friendly feelings for others are an extension of a man’s feelings for himself.”2 Indeed, in its healthiest form, philautia strengthens the bonds of philia. It is by this logic that today’s notion of love is that love cannot be reciprocated without it first coming from oneself. Healthy self-love also differentiates the good person from the bad person, as Aristotle describes in the same volume of Nicomachean Ethics, “The good man should be a lover of self (for he will both himself profit by doing noble acts, and will benefit his fellows), but the wicked man should not; for he will hurt both himself and his neighbours, following as he does evil passions.” The wicked man resembles Narcissus’s extreme self-love, and in doing so, pursues things for his own gain at the expense of his friends, while the good man, in practicing Aristotle’s definition of noble self-love, commits acts for his friends and his country. 1

The story of Narcissus appears in Ovid’s Metamor

Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics Book IX

phosis

Today Edric Owusu‘2019

Today, I have everything,

I’m prepared, No more pain, No more suffering, No more sorrow, “Try until you succeed,” they say, Trying such has led me nowhere To think the opposite, It’s nothing more than a joke, “Try until you succeed,” they say,

I’m just me, Fat, Ugly, Stupid, I won’t let myself believe that I am, Attractive, Smart, Useful, I am me,

Just stop, Why won’t you just let me do it, I’ll be better for this, I can do this, It’s time to stop this, It’s time to stop myself, Then they stopped me, (Hey, you’re reading it the wrong way! It’s supposed to be read from the bottom-up.)

Circles, Elizabeth Hall, 2022

Modern Day Narcissus Chloe Duensing â&#x20AC;&#x2122;2020

1.The Antique Store

“You are so handsome.” “Are you talking to yourself?” “No, I’m talking to my reflection.” “Wow.” “Don’t sound so judgmental, Kyle, my therapist told me that complimenting myself is the best booster for self-esteem.” “As if you need a boost for self-esteem.” “Well, actually, Kyle, I do.” Narkus reached a hand towards the smooth reflection, but was careful to not mar the image with greasy finger marks. He leaned forwards, climbing onto the dresser enthusiastically. The old wood creaked beneath him, but Narkus paid it no mind, grabbing both sides of the frame in a white-knuckled grip. “Oh hey there,” he purred to the mirror before him, splaying his legs on the desk so that he could appropriately straddle it. “Okay, okay, off the desk, Nark, I’m serious! You’re embarrassing me, and you’re going to break it!” Kyle lunged for his friend, grabbing him by his torso and trying to wrench the other away. The action created an even worse mess as they fell backward, slamming into a shelf behind them filled with antiques. A dreadful pause and then the from the top of the glass and spreading all the way to the bottom left corner. Staring into it, Kyle could see his disjointed face. “You heathen!” Narkus exclaimed, rushing over on his hands and knees to grab the cracked glass. He ignored the shards digging through the

thin material of his jeans, desperately seeking his reflection. finger over where his forehead was in the reflection. “You’ve ruined it.” Narkus began to cry.“ ”Okay, get up, get up,” Kyle groaned, grabbing the other from under his armpits and trying to lift the useless weight that was his friend. “We’ve gotta go.” In the distance, the shop owner looked like a monster as she stormed towards them, long dress billowing to be the wings of the fates of fury as she descended upon the pair. “Narkus!”“ “I don’t see what right you have to say my name after you’ve destroyed me.” “Now is not the time!” Kyle grabbed Narkus’s chin, wrenching it up and sideways so that the sobbing boy could see the approaching demon. From then, it took little effort to drag Narkus to his feet and run. Nobody wanted to confront the scary lady who ran the antique store. And off they ran, scrambling through the maze of mirrors and antiques. The door burst open with a cheerful twinkle of a welcome bell, and out the two teens raced to the streets. The city streets were flooded with busybodies, and it was easy for the pair to lose their pursuer in the crowd. By the time they reached safety, Narkus had already forgotten all about the broken mirror and began to obsess about his hair in the reflection in the side mirrors of Kyle’s car. Disaster averted.

II. The Apartment, Two Weeks Later

“I like that suit. It really brings out your eyes.” “Thanks, I like my eyes too!” “Okay, Narkus, I’m trying to give you a genuine compliment. Can you just, not for once?” “Fine, fine! Here, I have a compliment for you, too.” “Oh really?” “I like your glasses.” “Real original, Narkus.” Kyle felt a flush rise up in his cheeks regardless of his sarcasm. “No, I do! I can see my own reflection in them.” “Oh.” Kyle sighed, picking at the lint on his plain t-shirt. Next to Narkus who was dressed up in a tuxedo with a shiny, blue tie, Kyle felt ridiculously underdressed. But then again, it was not Kyle who was going on a date with one of the most popular girls in town. He glanced around the apartment, awkwardly fiddling with the phone in his hand while not really looking at it. Narkus’s apartment was imperiously clean, full of mirrors and reflective pieces. All of the cabinets had glass doors, and there were no decorations. Surprisingly, there were no pictures of Narkus himself, just mirrors. “Apparently, this girl values appearance just as much as me!” “I sincerely doubt that’s the case, Narkus.” “Well, I suppose so. Nobody is quite so, meticulous.” Narkus chuckled a warm sound that sent shivers down Kyle’s spine. “Say, Kyle, how many times can you go to the bathroom during dinner and not be considered awkward? It’s just that every time I take a bite of anything I’m worried about food getting stuck in my teeth.” “I don’t really think it matters. Just do it as many times as you think you should,” he replied with a shrug. Kyle knew that with his advice, Narkus would spend the entire dinner in the bathroom, but that sounded rather appealing to Kyle. He would hate for the other to get together with that dreadful lady. Narkus deserved more than

that, despite his obsession with his appearance. “Do I look alright?” “For the thousandth time, Narkus, you look great.” More than great, but Kyle would never admit it. “You have got to stop worrying. Just be yourself!” Kyle knew what Narkus was like, had seen the degradation of Narkus’s self-image and the resulting build up again. When the two of them had been young, Narkus had been overwrought with mental issues that had left him in a bad place. It had been mainly due to Kyle’s dedicated presence and encouragement that Narkus had sought help and became what he was today. Which was arguably worse. Either way, Kyle would stay with this man through thick and thin because that's what friends did. He forced a bright smile on his face, standing up to pat Narkus on the shoulder. As soon as he reached out, Narkus shied away. “Don’t. I just finished fixing my jacket.” “My bad.” Kyle let his hand drop, burying the appendage into his pocket, a well of annoyance and something else. Longing? No, that surely could not be it. “Right. I forgot.” “No harm done! Well, I better be off. You sure you’re going to be okay? And you’ll watch the fish, right?” “Yes, yes. I know how to watch your fish, Narkus, I bought her for you.” Last year, Narkus had wanted a pet. Maybe something like a lizard with a glass cage, for obvious reasons, but Kyle would hate for some poor creature to suffer from neglect just because Narkus spent his days locked in the bathroom. So, Kyle had bought him a fish bowl with a singular beta fish. Narkus loved it, had named the blue fish Artemis. “I’m heading out, then. Don’t break anything!” Narkus called amiably as he exited the apartment, giving Kyle and Artemis a jaunty wave. “I never do.”

III. The Forest

“Do you remember when we were younger?” “No, I’m a goldfish.” “Don’t be sassy, Kyle. I’m trying to be, what’s the word you use, ‘delicate.’ Yeah, that.” “Fine, of course, I remember. Is this some long -winded way to reminisce about how we discovered this pool of yours? Because I distinctly remember you tripping over a rock and landing face first into it.” Kyle sat on a dirty log, hands folded in his lap as he watched Narkus kneel over his reflection. Narkus loved this specific pool because no matter the wind or weather, ripples never seemed to appear. Kyle personally thought that the pool was rather magical that way, and built specifically for Narkus. For better or worse. It was common for Kyle to find the man out here, kneeling over the glorified puddle, observing his flawless features. “Kyle, I just need to say, I don’t think I can make Friday dinners anymore. And I’m going to quit my job. And I don’t want you to come to my place anymore.” Narkus did not even have the guts to look up at Kyle as he spoke. The other blinked, before shooting to his feet angrily. “You brought me all the way out here to tell me that you’re abandoning me?! What have I ever done to you?” “Oh Kyle, don’t be so narcissistic. This isn’t about you, it’s about me. I just need some time for myself, time that I can spend making sure that I appear to the world how I want to. I don’t need your persistent gnat-like presence fluttering around to distract me. Besides that, everything you’ve ever made me do has ended badly. You tried to hook me up with that city girl, you made me get a job, you made me get a fish which I don’t even like because it messes up the reflectiveness of the water, and you just, everything about you stresses me out!” Kyle threw up his hands, stalking towards Narkus. He loomed over the other. “Everything I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, “has been for you. You and your problems, you and your selfcenteredness, you--” Kyle gave up trying to finish his thought, letting out an incoherent snarl of anger. “Okay, fine, I admit it. You’re handsome.

You’re well groomed, well off, good at most things but you need to get over yourself. Do you know why I stuck with you this long?” Narkus sighed. “Why?” “Because I’m your friend. I’m your, I’m the only person who really knows you.” “You don’t know me.” “On the contrary, Narkus, I think I know you better than you know yourself. I have been with you through everything, good and bad. And here, I just thought you would think the same as me. Guys like us? They stick together.” “You don’t have any obligation to me.” Narkus narrowed his eyes. He was not going to allow Kyle to guilt trip him into going back on what he said. “What’s keeping you here with me if I’m apparently so bad?” “Because I love you, Narkus Cisst. And love works in strange ways.” “I love me, too.” “Excuse me?” he found himself repeating, clinging to the vestiges of hope that Narkus would come to his senses. His voice dropped to a whisper, hurt creeping into his tone just like his heart. “What? Aren’t you always the one telling me to stop bothering people and being such a public disturbance? I’m doing that, now! You should be happy.” “And what exactly will you do now?” Kyle’s words were nearly inaudible. “What I was meant to do. Fix myself.” “That doesn’t even make sense.” Narkus could not tear his eyes away from the pool. “It’s okay, handsome, Kyle’s just mad because he doesn’t know how to operate on his own without you.” “You’ve completely lost it,” he muttered. Kyle dug his fingernails into his palms, forming small, white crescent shapes. “You, you’re not the man I used to know.” “The man you used to know? Are you saying that I’ve aged?” “Goodbye, Narkus.” “Goodbye?” “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

IV. The Toilet, One Week Later 59

A man stared at the dead fish floating in the tank on his shelf. It was belly up, glittering scales as beautiful as ever but the poor creature was definitely dead. Narkus had not fed Artemis ever since Kyle had disappeared. Without Kyle, how could he remember to feed the fish? Kyle had been gone for a week, and they had not been in contact since. Sure, Narkus felt the absence of his best and only friend, but it was manageable. Besides, he needed to put himself first, and he needed some distance. Despite this, the mirror he had in hand was irreversibly smudged, Kyle’s clumsy fingerprint coating a large spot in the corner. It had taken Narkus a while to notice the blight, but when he had, the man had been inconsolable. Anger flourished in his bones at the memory, flaring and flickering, but he swallowed it. It was okay. Kyle was gone now. And he was never coming back. Because Narkus did not care about him. Right? In any case, it was time to get rid of the mirror. He had held onto it, even going so far as to text Kyle to come get it because Narkus certainly did not want it anymore, but the message had been undelivered according to his phone. Strange, because Kyle was always the type to respond quickly. Either way, the other was not his problem anymore, so Narkus had not given it much thought. There was a knock on his door. Feeling stiff like a robot, Narkus reached for it. Click. It opened. He was so used to staring at his own face, it felt weird to be seeing someone else’s in his vision. It was not his own handsome visage, his angular chin and deep eyes. No, it was the worn face of the antique store owner. “How did you find my house?” Narkus found himself asking with a hostile bite to his voice, holding the door open a sliver so that he could still slam it closed if need be. The person who Narkus had always thought was a harpy sighed heavily, clasping her hands in front of her. “You missed the funeral.” “What funeral?” “His funeral.” “Whose?” “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten him already.”

“Who?” “Kyle.” “What’s Kyle got to do with a funeral? And what’s that got to do with me?” Her face twisted from bitter anger to soft pity, and Narkus felt a pit of emotion well up in his stomach. It threatened to swallow him whole. “He’s dead, Narkus. He died in a car crash a week ago.” Narkus was so shocked, ice dripping down his spine, he could barely speak. “What?” “On the way back from that forest you boys like to venture out to.” The day that Narkus had dragged an unwilling Kyle out into the woods. It felt like he was someone else, one of those tragic stories that Kyle would try to tell him so that Narkus might actually feel a bit of sympathy for someone other than himself. “No way.” “He left you his cat, but you, I suppose you wouldn’t know.” “I can’t take care of his cat.” “You can’t take care of anyone, Narkus. Not even my son.” Kyle’s mother, the owner of an antique shop full of old mirrors and trinkets, a woman who had watched her son and Narkus grow up together ever since that fateful day Narkus had wandered into her store, sighed and could not even cry for the boy in front of her. “Did you not get the texts? Or the letter?” Narkus never checked his electronic notifications or his mail. That was usually Kyle’s job. Who was also apparently dead. “No.” “Oh. That’s too bad, then. Narkus, I--” Narkus slammed the door in her face. He rushed to the bathroom, a swell of nausea emerging from his throat as he stared at himself in the mirror. He could see his reflection: wild eyes, messy hair, pale skin, sweat beading down his face, pure shock still embedded on the features of his bones. Narkus had never seen anything more disgusting in his life. Bile built in his dreadful, horrible, no good body that could not even save his only friend, and Narkus stumbled to the toilet bowl. He knelt, and looked at the white porcelain. In the clear water, his reflection. And then the boy threw up.

Butterflies Lillie Olliver ‘2021

Butterflies are great to look at.

Their widespread wings, glinting in the sunlight. Who doesn’t like butterflies? Nobody, that’s who. Anyone who says “I hate butterflies” Also happens to enjoy murdering puppies And taking candy from babies. (It’s a fact.)

When we want someone to think of something good, We don’t say “Think of wasps and hornets and rain clouds.” We say “Think of sunshine and rainbows and butterflies,” And we instantly feel better; we feel hope. But when they’re up close, who actually likes butterflies? Butterflies are disgusting. They’re hairy and leggy and oh God that tongueWho really likes butterflies? Nobody, that’s who. Sure, they’re pretty from afar. Promising hope and happiness and a future. Envied by all who look on, wishing for their own butterflies To cherish and to love. But the moment they’re charging down your throat in a torrent so strong you can’t breathe, let alone scream,

you start to understand why nobody really likes butterflies.

Butterflies in your stomach start out small, almost pleasant. They’re a sign that things are about to change. They’re a sign that you have something to live for. They’re a sign that you have something to love. It’s all fun and games... until they want out. Suddenly the friendly companions become a swarm,

demanding to be free. They don’t care about what you want; they just want out. out out out out out out out OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT Until all you want is to strangle them, burn them, and scatter their ashes. And when you’re done, And every last one has been burnt to a crisp, Wings scattered to the wind. Antennae fluttering on the ground, Only then is it clear of the blissful peace you feel without the butterflies. But the body is a wonderful, beautiful, cruel thing. Much like how a mother forgets the pain of childbirth,

The heart forgets the swarm. The heart forgets the sickening feeling of butterflies fighting to get out. The heart forgets the ache. The heart forgets the fear. The heart forgets the anger. The heart forgets the hairy, ugly little monsters it had only just before hated with a burning passion. And suddenly, butterflies are beautiful again.

Out, Lillie Oliver, 2021

Morning Routine Lillie Olliver â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;2021

INT. BATHROOM - MORNING

The scene opens on a bathroom, a sliding door open that leads into the bedroom, and a toilet room reflected in the mirror. The light turns on as Jessica walks into the bathroom, her hair a mess, pajamas in disarray, and sheet imprints on her cheek. She plants her hands on the bathroom counter's edge and stares into her reflection, looking exhausted. JESSICA :Ew, you again. (Yawning) God, you look like more of a mess than usual. I guess three hours of sleep will do that to you, huh?

She grabs a hairbrush off the counter and starts roughly brushing her hair. JESSICA : Like, for real. It's a good thing you don't care what people think because people are DEFINITELY thinking a lot about you. And not good things, either.

(Mockingly) Jessica, you look like you're dying! Jessica, why are your eyes so red? Jessica, are you sick?

She scoffs and puts down the hair brush. JESSICA : As if I don't wake up every morning and ask myself the same question. She clips back her hair and turns on the tap. She makes an exaggeratedly disgusted expression at herself in the mirror before stooping over to wash her face.

Once she is finished, she leans back up, water dripping off her skin. JESSICA: You know what? Maybe I LIKE looking like garbage, you know? Maybe I'm setting a new trend. By the end of the year, EVERYONE will be staying up 'till four A.M. on purpose just to get on my level. She pats her skin dry with a hand towel and opens a bottle of toner.

She pours a little onto a cotton pad and swipes it across her face. JESSICA : That's right. All the ladies will be raging to get that sickly pale foundation. It'll be all the rage.

She squirts some moisturizer on her fingertips and rubs it into her skin. JESSICA : They'll be putting red eyeshadow on the ends of their noses to get that 'I'm not sick it's just allergies' look.

She uncaps a bottle of toothpaste and squirts some onto a toothbrush, wets it under the faucet, and shoves it into her mouth. JESSICA : (From around the toothbrush) An' choo know wha? Girlsh will bring eyedropsh to schcool just to ashieve that beaushiful 'I haven' shlept in several daysh' look. She spits into the sink and rinses her mouth.

She braces her hands on the counter again and stares into the mirror.

JESSICA : (With determination) I will be the epitome of beauty.

She rinses her mouth with mouthwash and rinses again. She walks out of the doorway into her bedroom. JESSICA : (From the other room) I predict that black clothes will be at the height of the market. Everybody will want them. Black shirts, black sweatpants, black shoes... Color won't even be an option for those at the top of the fashion ladder. "We wear pink on Wednesdays?" NO! We wear black on... uh... ALL of the days!

ing.

Drawers can be heard opening and clos-

JESSICA : Nobody will want to hear 'You look so nice today' anymore. The reigning complements will be 'Ew!' and 'Wow, you look like trash!' and 'For real, are you okay?'! The world will never be more humbled.

She re-enters the bathroom, decked out in black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt.

JESSICA : (She says ominously) Makeup? Who needs that! The Free the Pores movement will sweep the country. There will be city -wide burnings of powders, foundations, and highlighters alike.

The lights dim slowly as her voice becomes more Satanic.

JESSICA : And nobody will EVER say that I was anything but the most beautiful of women. A true trendsetter. The leader of a revolutionary movement. I will be a beauty icon. (As Satan) I WILL BE THE GODDESS OF BEAUTY REIGNING OVER A LAND OF PEASANTS THAT WILL NEVER MATCH UP TO MY SUPREME STANDARD OF GOODLOOKINGNESS.

Jessica starts to levitate as a red light illuminates her face. JESSICA: I, JESSICA, WILL BE THE SOLE RULER OF A WORLD FULL OF UGLY PEOPLE. I, ALONE!

The red light turn off and there's a grunt of Jessica falling. The lights turn back on and Jessica pulls herself back up.

JESSICA (CONTâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;D): Okay, maybe not today. But, (Pointing at herself in the mirror) Someday. For now, at least I know you look great. The world just doesn't know it yet.

She leaves through the side door, flicking off the bathroom light as she goes .

A Disquiet Follows My Soul Adaeze Uzoije 2022

Every world seems black and white, History repeats from dark to light A Disquiet Follows my Soul With the booming subtlety of a creaking staircase Tip-toe, tip-toe The soft steps love to creep through my veins And the stream of black blood flows to my heart And the sin in my heart flows to my head And my head starts spouting words that I shan’t repeat And the words follow in my own footsteps And the cycle repeats And the cycle repeats And the cycle repeats And I can’t stop the Disquiet from Following my Soul A Desire Reigns my Heart With the soft eruption of a million firecrackers Crackle-pitter, crackle-patter The quiet booms love to echo in my brain And the stream of consciousness flows into my soul And the love in my soul sinks into my veins And my veins become strange fractals waiting for actions I’d love to do And the fractals nerve themselves into my own hands And the cycle repeats And the cycle repeats And the cycle repeats And I’ll never stop the Desire from Reigning my Heart Every world is black and white, History will repeat from dark to light But today I’ll try being brighter

The Barrier That Surrounds Me, Joycelin Lau, 2020

A Letter to Myself Leanna Nguyen 2019

Dear Me, I am writing this letter to inform you That you have always seen the light in others, But now it is time to find the light in you. You always questioned your self-worth, And the constant fear of others’ opinions Made you feel that you did not belong on this earth. Your desire to fit in what Society has defined as beauty Made you change into someone else And though you “fit” in, you were still empty. I did not write this letter to show your mistakes. I am writing to teach you to learn from them, But also because I have an apology to make. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for always blaming depression and anxiety For changing us, And pushing us away from our friends and family. The blame is on me, for I never picked you up Every time you were pushed to the ground By people who always made you feel like a screw-up. We are human, and so we make mistakes. And in order for us to heal our wounds Time is all we need to take. Remember that there is only one you in this world. And although you are different than others, Look pass society’s illusions and see what beauty truly is in the real world. You are worth it. Sincerely,

You

I promise to love myself more, Helen Nguyen, 2019

Credits: Editor in Chief: Chloe Duensing

Editors: Bhavana Kunnath Yentil Nicholas Leanna Nguyen Christopher Ceron Justice Sconiers

A special thanks to Thanh Nguyen, Club President Mr. Bray, Principal The Olliver Family, Benefactors Dr. Phillips, Art Teacher

ÂŠ 2019 Infinitas Magazine

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