Tag Archives: creative nonfiction

This Is What It Feels Like

David V DartelIt’s been quite a bit of time since I last wrote on this thing, huh. What’s strange is that it is not for lack of things to say because, let’s be frank, anyone who has ever met me knows I’m never without words. If I’m being totally truthful, I can’t say I’ve been too busy – because I could’ve found time to write here and there. I will say, however, that I don’t think I wanted to hear or read what I would have written in those stolen moments.

Upon graduating nearly three months ago, my day-to-day has taken a complete one-eighty. Gone are the days when I trekked to and from Grand Central, the pages and pages of notes procured in dozens of lecture halls have been trashed, and the hard-earned, yet still imaginary, paystubs of interning have been bid adieu. Now, my Monday through Friday consists of working nine-to-six at a desk. My weekends are suddenly free game, my paychecks are suddenly gargantuan in comparison to what they once were (yet they seem to disappear just as quickly…), and if I stay awake past eleven pm, it’s considered a “late night.” What’s more is that my days feel like the crawl by but the weeks seem to race faster than light. I’ve blinked and my summer has all but disappeared, without so much as a good suntan to remember it by.
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Why I Want You

“I want you because there aren’t any good words for who you are. The only ones that come to mind are earnest, sad clichés like “amazing” and “magnetic” and “fascinating” and I don’t want to use them, but on the other hand they are the only words, and cliché or not they are honest words and I’m not sure consulting a thesaurus at this point would be genuine. And it’s not that I want you officially, like I want your last name or your Sunday mornings or your hard shiny promise, I just want to absorb you. I want to know what you know, want to hear your stories, want to filter through them gently and get lost in them, them and the soft hypnosis of your hands in my hair.”

“I Want You Because” by Mila Jaroniec

Senses Fall

As August takes one of its last heaving sighs, it lets out all that heavy air it has left within. It breathes in and out slowly yet methodically, taking in precious hours of daylight and swallowing them up whole, exhaling out the cool breeze that ushers in autumn. Once September arrives, the familiar lush green carpets and skyscrapers of yore leisurely fade to shades of browns, reds, and yellows. Endless days of sunshine turn to crisp windswept mornings and lackadaisical weekend afternoons that smell quintessentially like apples and pumpkins.

We affectionately disregard “Autumn” as the name of this new friend we’re playing with and we call her “Fall.” It is a title better suited for her. It is a moniker that means more than a literal tumble or drop. Such is a time so full of opportunity and double entendres. Students everywhere are falling back into rhythms of books, pencils, and desk chairs. You can almost smell the freshness, the excitement – the fear. Perhaps this will be the year they learn algebra or maybe it will be the year they lose their innocence. Young lovers are tragically falling out of love, the heavy heat gone from both the night air and their slow beating hearts. Conversely, those sidelong glances of mere acquaintances have others falling into love. These hopefuls believe the weeks to come will be as ripe as blackberries awaiting picking, bulbous and patient. Continue reading