In disbelief - how could it be any other feeling - he texted his side boo at the bar, right in front of me. Later he said I had ruined dinner. Over fries and drinks, I had lamented his desire for other women. But it’s boring having just one girlfriend, he implored. How on earth. He dared to be oblivious, whether he meant it or not. But I was deeply committed to this man. It doesn’t work like that, merely walking out, finding the next flight out of LAX, finding yourself amid toxicity and lies.

It took five more side girlfriends for me to call him crying, telling him it was over. The fries at that bar were the best I ever had, but that man? Dumpster trash I can’t speak of, next days leftovers spoiled and rotten, my self-respect already taken away in a special blend of yesterday’s garbage.

Wrote this a few years back. With travel to Florida increasing, seems like time to bring it back.

Ever wonder where Mickey goes when he needs a break?

I know, I know. You come to Florida, and you want to visit Uncle Walt’s place. No fault in that. We all have a favorite uncle. (Uncle George. Uncle Angelo. Uncle Paul. Uncle Sam. Etc.)

Maybe they played catch with us when we were kids. Or cards. Or Monopoly.

Walt gave us Mickey Mouse. Sleeping Beauty. Cinderella. Colorful TV. Daniel Boone. Davy Crockett. 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. And more. Who could compete with that? Not many. Not ever.

But believe me, there are other visitation options—humble though they may be. (See links at the end of this article.)

One of my favorite places? Edison & Ford Winter Estates. In Fort Myers. Love it. Even bought a season pass way back when. Some of you are probably thinking, “Boooooor-ing.” With a capital B. Maybe. But at least it’s real. In many ways. On many levels.

Try and imagine the 20th century without the impact Ford and Edison had on every level of society—rich, poor, and all of us in-between. Edison: Electricity, light bulbs, photography, motion pictures, and, of course, recordings.

“Mary had a little lamb.”

Edison accumulated 1,093 patents in his lifetime. (That’s 1,093 more than I have. How about you?) Know this: Edison was dyslexic. As a youngster, one of his teachers called him “Addled.” He was home-schooled. Hard of hearing. And less than a comfortably social creature.

Ford? Most everyone recognizes his contributions to the modern industrial complex—but that was the end result of a thousand previous steps along a long, lonely, and laborious journey.

What will you find at the Edison & Ford Winter Estates? No carnival rides. No dudes or dudettes dressed up like light bulbs. Just nerdy stuffy. Like inventions. Exhibits. Displays.

Things the guys from TV’s “The Big Bang” might enjoy.

All that, plus the garden, the award-winning “Moonlight Garden.” I am not a green-thumb kinda guy, but even I was impressed by all the stuff growing there. Fancy stuff. Exotic stuff. Weedy stuff. Stuff from all over the world—drawn there by the power of Edison’s curiosity. Sucked into his “What if?” world.

Another of my favorite Florida spots? Weeki Wachee Springs. Why? Mermaids, of course.

Weeki Wachee is about an hour’s drive north of Tampa. It’s been around for more than a half-century. While the Edison & Ford Winter Estates satisfies my inner geek, mermaids feed my whimsical side, so much so that about 40 years ago—as a reporter for The Tampa Tribune—I went scuba diving with these playful underwater creatures.

I remember it vividly.

The cuttingly cold, ice-needle spring water. The Darth Vader hollow-echo of my breathing. The eerie experience of slowly turning around and facing a beautiful woman, suspended mid-water, swimming elegantly and effortlessly, our exhaled bubbles tap-dancing together—like Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds—as they swirled to the surface while we stared at each other below.

Well, I’m biased. I’d go back in a minute. Into that cold, mean water; into that buoyant, bubbly dream.

But enough about that.

Number three? Busch Gardens in Tampa. I first visited it many years ago when it was little more than a manicured garden path with tacky little fairy-tale statues and free beer. I returned over the years as it morphed, ever more mechanical, plastic, and carney-like. I haven’t been back in a long time. But I’d return—if only for the memories.

Next up: St. Augustine, “America’s Oldest City.” My wife and I went there for our honeymoon, back in 1975. We’ve been there since. Plan to go again. We love it. Charming. Alluring. Fascinating. Especially if you love history. Not everyone’s cup o’ tea—but a delightful place to have tea, nonetheless.

Tarpon Springs is just a few miles from my house. It’s like a second home. You won’t need more than a half-day to see everything. But you could back there a dozen times just to taste your way through the restaurants. The Greek food is great. When I can, I order the flaming cheese: Saganaki. The waiter brings it to the table, lights it on fire, then puts it out with a lemon. When the flames reach their peak, we like to yell “Opa!”

Delish.

Shifting gears, probably the only place I’ve been to more than Tarpon, is the beach at Siesta Key in Sarasota. (The only other beach that had a bigger impact on my life was China Beach in Vietnam—but that’s another story.)

Siesta Key is said to have “the world’s finest, whitest sand.” I agree. But, to me, the sand is secondary to the sunsets. Spectacular. Stunning. Spiritual. I can close my eyes and be there. My “Happy Place.”

Lastly, also in Sarasota, Ringling. Mulfi-faceted and fascinating. The Circus Museum feeds the kid in you: Colorful posters, mesmerizing miniatures, big ornate circus artifacts. The Art Museum, with its many treasures, lets you feel all high-brow. But my preferred spot is Ca’ d’Zan—“House of John”—the Ringling residence. I always felt it was like visiting Xanadu, the home of Charles Foster Kane.

That’s my list—but please indulge me as I mention three I’d like to visit and why.

First is the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum in Key West. If you’re a Hemingway fan, you need not ask why. When I was a young person, two writers stood out in my mind: William Saraoyan and Ernest Hemingway. I’d be happy to walk in their aura, if only for a moment.

Second is the Dali Museum in St. Petersburg. If you’re a Dali fan, you need not ask why. When I was a youngster, three artists stood out in my mind: Picasso, van Gogh, and Salvador Dalí—though I’d be afraid to walk through their aura.

Finally, the Kennedy Space Center and Cape Canaveral. Why? Just because. The Mercury Seven— Scott Carpenter, Gordon Cooper, John Glenn, Gus Grissom, Wally Schirra, Alan Shepard, and Deke Slayton. The Gemini program. Apollo. The moon landing. The shuttles. All that.

What about you? What one small step into Florida would you like to make? It might be closer than you think . . .

My List & Links

Edison & Ford Winter Estates

http://www.edisonfordwinterestates.org/

Weekie Wachee Springs

http://www.weekiwachee.com/

Busch Gardens-Tampa

http://buschgardens.com/

St.Augustine

http://www.floridashistoriccoast.com/

Tarpon Springs

http://spongedocks.net/

Siesta Key Beach

http://www.siestakeychamber.com/beaches

Ringling Museum

https://www.ringling.org/

Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum in Key West

http://www.hemingwayhome.com/

Dali Museum in St. Petersburg

http://thedali.org/

Kennedy Space Center & Cape Canaveral

https://www.kennedyspacecenter.com/

Other lists:

TripAdvisor.com: Things to Do in Florida

http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attractions-g28930-Activities-Florida.html

RoadsideAmerica.com: Florida

http://www.roadsideamerica.com/location/fl

Touropia.com: 10 Top Tourist Attractions in Florida

http://www.touropia.com/tourist-attractions-in-florida/

Planetware.com: 12 Top-Rated Tourist Attractions in Florida

http://www.planetware.com/tourist-attractions/florida-usfl.htm

1. Bury yourself in blankets, preferably clean, warm ones.

2. Sleep. Sleep to forget everything.

3. Consume a large amount of melted cheese.

4. Make fifteen pots of tea. Forget to drink them.

5. Cry until you can’t breathe. Cry to breathe again.

6. Find chips (Wise Hot Cheese Popcorn). Buy an infinite amount. Ingest them all. You will find yourself in a 14-hour food coma. Cherish the oblivion you’ve created.

7. Find a carton of freezer-burn Neapolitan ice-cream. Eat all the chocolate. Curse the end of chocolate. Eat all the vanilla. Curse the strawberry. Eat all the strawberry.

8. Open Voice Memos app. Scream into phone for five minutes. Listen to playback.

9. Cry until you can’t breathe. Cry to breathe again.

10. Use the underside of your palm to graze death. Decide if you like or hate its touch.

11. Sleep. Sleep to forget everything.

12. Dream yourself a beginning.

13. Wake up to prisms flooding your room. Remember the world creates rainbows.

14. Breathe deeply for the first time since birth.

15. Go outside.

16. Come back in fifteen minutes later. It was too soon.

17. Cry until you can’t breathe. Cry to breathe again.

18. Take a hot shower and drown yourself in its warmth.

19. Spread yourself on the bed, starfish style. Remember how much you like the ocean.

20. Book a trip to the Faroe Islands.

21. Never come back.

~THE PEARL~

Beyond the beach and the dunes, a mosaic of stones winds through the forest to return to the university’s main building. As its last curve comes into our sight, Beau rounds the turn, halts, and crosses his arms. Morning’s rays streak between the trees and pool in his eyes like molten electrum, as luminous as the electric lights that have brought the need for a new Essence.

Those eyes narrow and settle on Sal. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Sal stops, too, a hand on my shoulder. “Why?”

“You know what happened to that islander last night?”

“No?” A mote of panic sharpens Sal’s question as he passes me.

I share the feeling. I want to sprint past him and find Jun, but my legs transform into branches lacking knees. I no longer feel my toes.

“As soon as we heard, Vidal told me you’d switched with Oakson for rock collecting duty this morning. You should have been back at least half an hour ago.” Beau covers the distance between us with long strides. “So, I rushed out here, sure there wouldn’t be anything left of you to find.”

His gaze falls on me like twin hammers, and Sal’s hand slides down my arm to lock around my wrist, pulling me further behind him.

Pike rolls his eyes. “Beau Smythe, I thought you were a man of science. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the sea, too.”

Beau pivots to tower over his fellow science student. “At least I’m not the weirdo who said the sea when asked for his greatest love.”

Sal tilts his head at Pike, then shakes away the tangent. “Do you know what attacked Jun?”

“You do.” Beau lifts his brows, and in Sal’s shadow, his eyes no longer glow.

Sal’s shoulders form a straight plain. He is a wall, yet his voice is quiet and jagged like broken pebbles grinding beneath a boot. “Please tell me he lives.”

I need that answer, too. It is air, and without it, my lungs might as well be stone.

“Can we be modern men here, please?” Hands raised, Pike stomps between the two other boys. “There is no such thing as Essences or Creatures of the Sea. If someone hurt Jun, it’s because we keep repeating these lies and superstitions meant to divide us.”

How have they hurt him, though? Is it as Beau said last night? Has someone given Jun to Mare, pinned him on the shore and poured his blood into the sea?

If there is any life left in my blue-eyed human, I can heal him. I have to try.

I curl my fingers around Sal’s forearm. “I want to see him.”

Sal is stiffer than any golem, skin prickled and cold. “Beau, why aren’t you answering me?”

“You think you deserve an answer?” Pushing past Pike, he jabs a finger into Sal’s chest. “You know it’s not safe out here, but you dragged Pearl along. You disappearing would be one thing, but if you both vanished—” He cuts off with a growl and shoves at Sal, but he might as well shove at a cliff.

Sal knows the sea is dangerous. He believes anything beautiful is. He has not known me for long, yet he intuits enough to understand that I would cherish the beauty of the pre-dawn beach over insipid safety. I suspect, too, that bringing me to the sea was a test. He believes me one of Mare’s creatures, and I do not believe I have managed to convince him otherwise.

Grip still firm on my wrist, he charges forward, knocking Beau out of the way. “We’d better get inside before we miss breakfast.”

Stumbling behind him, I repeat my wish. “I need to see Jun.”

Pike falls into step beside me with a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he’s fine, Pearl. He survived that bear.”

He did, but only with my help. His blood coats my hands anew, sticky, thick, warm, and unseen.

“Sal,” I whisper. “Sal, after everything that was said last night, do you think it was Creatures of the Sea? The Swine?” My focus cuts briefly to Pike, then jumps back to Sal. “Or did Aurora…” The sentence sticks in my throat, and I swallow it. “If you had let me follow him last night, would he…” I cannot finish this sentence either.

Sal walks faster.

“Who’s not answering now?” Beau calls, jogging to pass us.

Finally, my legs understand that I must move. Slipping my wrist free, I swing around Sal and fix a challenging stare on Beau. “We were working out a theory about the auroras. They are a new Creature of Essence, the Essence of the Night.”

Now his legs become stiff branches, and he nearly topples over, but I cannot stop. I have to get to Jun.

***

“Welcome to Great Minds Think Café. Vidal feels awful today. How can I help you?”

I squint at his badge, and though it remains in a script I do not know, I am still fairly certain it says Vidal.

“Do you and your boss have the same name?”

“Answering questions of that nature is not in my job description. Please pick a meal option.”

With a sigh, I swivel toward Beau. “Are you certain Jun is in the café?”

“You need food.” Sal’s hands on my shoulders realign me with the counter. Yet, when I lean my head back to look up at him, he is scanning the seating area far behind Vidal—an advantage his height allows that mine does not. “We all need to eat. Give her the same thing she had yesterday, Vidal. Me, too, and charge it to Beau.”

“Add a veggie plate,” Pike throws in with a small wave and a lopsided grin.

Beau scoffs. “Are you sure you don’t want to add some centipede guts to that? If I’m paying for it, why not go all out?”

“Tease me all you want.” Nose in the air, Pike snakes his arm around my shoulders. “Pearl and I already worked that out, and I don’t care diddly squat about your opinion.”

Vidal clears his throat. “Centipede is not on the menu, though Vidal could probably find some cockroaches for you.”

My ears perk at the suggestion. As much as I want to find Jun, Sal is right. If I do need to heal him, it will take energy I cannot spare if I do not eat, and if Vidal recommends cockroaches for a more interesting meal, then I want to try it.

“Can you add cockroaches to my plate, too?”

“It would make my day.” He is a sketch of straight lines—brows, lips, eyes—yet this request begets the slightest curve of a smile.

“Disgusting! Don’t you dare add that, Vidal.” Pike tows me away, arm still draped over my shoulder.

Sal grabs his jacket’s collar and lugs him back.

Twisting free, Pike lifts both hands as if warding off blows that do not come. “You think I’m some sort of teapot with a handle you can just carry around and set wherever you like?”

“You said you were going to make it up to Pearl for killing her centipede friend. Why don’t you start by picking up her food at the counter for her?”

Pike nods firmly, face scrunching. “That’s a good idea, actually, though it’ll seem disingenuous now that you told me to do it.” Rocking back on his heels, he lobs a glance at the front corner of the balcony, where smoke and steam waltz above a loitering crowd. “A centipede friend though? Is that an accurate description?”

“It was a gift from…” How do I explain my relationship to Terra? I cannot tell him the whole truth, and that realization is a rope of thorns crawling up my spine. My arms hold each other, and my gaze falls to our toes. “My father sent it because he worries for me.”

“Now I’m ten times more sorry.” Short as he is, Pike does not have to duck far to reenter my line of sight. “There was a pit in my stomach before, but now it’s like the Great Swallowing all over again, turning me inside out.”

The corner of my mouth twitches in a rebellious smirk. “For someone who hates words, that is very poetic.”

“Really? I’m no poet though.” He winks, pulls his beret from his pocket, and sets it crookedly atop his sandy hair as he straightens. “I’m going to go get our food now, okay? Do not disappear on me.”

At my nod, he takes off, and I turn to whisper to Sal. “Is he the Swine? Or…”

My gaze rakes our surroundings. Vidal takes requests from the next students queued before his podium, but our other companion has vanished.

My volume drops even lower. “Or is it Beau?”

Sal sighs. “Do you still want to see Jun?”

“You found him?” Whirling, I dash through the doors and beyond the half wall that blocks most of the balcony from my sight. Unfamiliar faces occupy most of the chairs, but at last I spy midnight hair fanned over the back of a charcoal jacket.

“Jun!”

Sal’s grip returns to my shoulders, holding me back. His words are for me alone, hissed into my ear. “Wait. Think. You say you’re not a Creature of the Sea, but you do have ties to Mare.”

I keep my eyes pinned to Jun’s back. “Is it true what you said when we first met? That you study the transference of energy like when an Essence heals someone?”

In the elongated moment while I await Sal’s reply, I inspect my blue-eyed human. Facing the rising sun, he sits alone at the same table where we studied last night. His head and arms move as he partakes of whatever his plate offers, and the motions are as graceful as what I have come to expect from him. At this angle and distance, I cannot tell that anything is amiss.

Though a soft breeze, Sal’s voice possesses winter’s bite. “You’re saying you can heal him. It doesn’t matter what happens to him because you can undo it?”

No, that is not what I mean at all. What is this feeling, this tightness in my chest and emptiness in my core at the thought of his smile’s absence in the world?

“I will protect him.”

“What are you, Pearl?”

Head tilted, I look at Sal and try to squirm free. His grip slides to my wrists—a vice, a chain, a leash.

“It’s a serious question. What are you that you think you can protect a Koa from Mare?” The words are less than a breath. If they catch in any of the ears that surround us, they swirl through that maze and slip free without any impact. Yet, they crash into me, each echo heavier.

Because it is true. I cannot even protect myself from Mare.

Unless I win the bet.

Ice crawls through my veins and bursts in tiny explosions as if I sit between massive jaws. Any moment, those teeth will meet and rip me asunder. No, not me, Jun, and I cannot stand it.

I tear free and rush to him. His small smile melts my fear. If I kiss him as Sal taught me, will that smile grow? Will he think of me as one who ignites his heart instead of one who remained silent while Beau voiced those awful words yesterday?

Last night, I told Tulip what happened on the balcony. Her words waft again through my head. “Beau’s a spoiled brat used to getting away with everything. Doesn’t help that he’s new here and he’s the dean’s nephew. You should stay away from him and Jun both, probably.”

I do not want to stay away from Jun. I do not know how, but I will not let those horrid things happen to him.

“They have happened,” Tulip argued, “not to him, but to his family.”

“He never knew them.”

Tulip had an answer for that, too. “He still loves them.”

The notion confused me, and I set it aside so I could sleep. Now, with Jun so near, my thoughts are a swirling sea beneath a tempest. How can humans love someone they have never met? Those Koa men died long before Jun existed. Even had they lived their lives out in peace, he would never have seen their smiles.

Does Jun regret being born too late? He had no control over that, yet I understand. No other sea stones like me existed while I lay on the ocean floor, but that did not make me less lonely. It seems foolish to blame something that does not exist for its own non-existence, but a part of me does.

If I win the bet, I can stay with Terra. I can ask Terra for the power to protect Jun. Maybe we can move to his island and protect all those he loves.

His smile sags. “This might be considered weird on the mainland, but I find it unnerving when someone just stares at me like they’re watching the world burn.”

With a silent, “Oh,” I straighten, but I cannot look away. “You are as beautiful as any fire. May I sit with you to dine?”

His mouth hangs ajar, and his brows rise, but after a moment, he swivels back to his plate. “Why not? No one else will.”

I pull out the chair alongside him, but Halcyon slides into it with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

A squeak of surprise and protest escapes me, but before I can tell the dragon to move, Sal approaches from Jun’s other side, meeting my gaze and shaking his head. The shadow of the upper balcony leeches all the green from his eyes, leaving them the gray of a steel chain. Solemnity weights the look, and the floor groans beneath my feet.

With a deep breath, I circle the table and sit across from Jun, trying not to look at Sal as he claims a chair. Jun peers askance at Halcyon as if expecting him to announce why he suddenly appeared. The dragon’s face is again buried in a book, and he lacks a plate. Has he already finished his breakfast? Would the humans approve of his diet? Hopefully, he does not eat any of their relatives.

I do not allow these wisps of wonder to launch into the world as Jun sips from a half sphere, gazing over its rim at me. The drink’s sweet, milky scent fills the air.

“Can I try some?”

Jun offers me the cup—a fruit sliced in half. A coconut. As its fragrance grows, so does my smile. I sample the creamy contents, and the rough, fuzzy shell scours my lower lip. My teeth scratch against the coconut’s flesh, and some peels off, sliding onto my tongue. While saccharine, it is not as sweet as its scent promises.

Jun’s eyes are wide, the corner of his lips trapped between his molars. “Do you like it?”

I nod, nibbling off more.

“Good. I’d have cried if you said it was gross.” He leans back, deflating with a sigh. “To me, this fruit represents my home.”

“It’s good for you, too,” Pike says with another wink as he sets my plate before me. Like yesterday, a mountain of yellow fluff occupies the center. “Coconut keeps you regular.”

My face twists. “Would one not wish to be special?”

Pike laughs. The sound is sunshine and waves crashing against the shore. “That’s not what that means. It keeps, well, you know, your insides…Jun, help me out here with a table-appropriate explanation.”

“You got yourself into this mess.”

Pike’s cheeks contort and redden, and he speaks too loudly. “What I mean to say, Jun, is I approve of your dietary choices this morning.”

With a shrug, Jun stabs the last berry on his plate. “I already finished all the things you wouldn’t approve of.”

Chuckling quietly, I lift the coconut for a second sample, but as Jun raises his fork to his mouth, his sleeve slips, and I freeze, a blizzard raging within. Not only does white gauze attempt to conceal an injury on his arm, fresh, scarlet blood seeps through it.

I drop the fruit and snatch his hand. “They did hurt you.”

“Nobody tell the dean, or the healers will tie me up in bandages.” He slips his fingers free of mine, blue eyes narrowed and darting everywhere.

“What attacked you last night?” Sal asks, low voice like the grind of river rocks. “Another aurora?”

Jun stills. “It was different. More solid. And it was singing.”

Sal glances at me, but after an obese pause, the straight line of his lips quirks up on one side. His tone overflows with syrup. “Were you bewitched?”

Jun scowls. “It was the same song Pike played before the bear attack, so I thought it was him at first playing some joke. Then, it chomped down on my arm, and Great Tempest, its teeth…”

His eyes pin his wrist, yet it rolls with a slow, jolted movement reminiscent of the golems, as if beneath his wrinkled sleeve, his skin has become a plain of stone. My lungs are just as rigid, though they are ice and fragile. I dare not move.

“I’d left a partially disassembled Baker Arrow on the nightstand, and I stabbed it into the beast’s side. It fled, the coward.”

I still cannot breathe. Pike draws in a slow breath and holds it. Halcyon flips the page of his book.

As swift and strong as a riptide, Sal grabs Jun’s arm and pushes his sleeve back to his elbow. The gauze wraps his entire forearm, lined by crimson pools.

“It’s still bleeding after how many hours? The healers need to clean and sew this.”

“They’ll tell the dean, and he’ll overreact.” Jun attempts to break free, but Sal is stronger.

“When something literally tries to eat you, it’s not overreacting to seek medical attention and post a guard.”

“I don’t need a guard. I need—”

Jun quiets as my lips touch his forehead. My hips support my weight atop the table, though I do lean on him a bit, one hand tangled in his hair to sweep it out of his face. The other digs between the folds of gauze until my fingertips reach warm, sticky skin. The ice within me shatters, replaced with lightning.

He pivots back, chair balanced on only two legs and hands around my wrists as he studies my face. A smile crawls across him, slow at first and shaky, but inevitable as dawn. “When Pike said you were a wild warrior woman, this isn’t what I pictured.”

“Pike called me a wild warrior woman?” I tilt my head and pull my knees beneath me. Yellow fluff sticks to the front of my jacket. The thinnest tendrils of steam waft from every point of contact between us, but Jun does not notice.

He smirks. “That, among other things.”

I turn to Pike, who is on his feet, eyes like deep, circular lagoons.

His voice is just as liquid. “What’s the knife for, bookworm?”

Continued in chapter 20

Thank you for reading!

I was already prepared to leave my ex husband... but I was still doubting my decision... wondering if having time away would make things better.

I thought maybe we should just separate for a year.

And maybe I would get better and have more energy after a break.

But when I met her... the DAY I met her...

I felt this thing in my stomach I’d never felt before. Ever.

Like, this deep longing I’d never felt before. And I knew I could never settle for less than that feeling.

And I knew it was over. My marriage had to be over.

I didn’t think she and I would ever even be friends... but I knew I needed that feeling. That I could never be with someone who didn’t make me feel like I could shoot rainbows from my fingertips and sing like a million harps and float to the clouds.

If I must, I will wait forever for that feeling.

Why? What sort of question is that? Why does anyone do anything? It was what I wanted. I wanted it and I wasn’t afraid to take it. The world is full of good guys, and guys too chicken to do take they want. Me, I’m no chicken. I’m not afraid of anyone or anything. I’m no namby-pamby, careful cultivated, construction of an ego. I know how the world really works. I know what counts. Somebody hurts you, you hurt them back. Sometimes you have to hurt them before they have the chance to hurt you. That is power. That is smarts. I do what I want, and if you don’t like it, I’ll hurt you too. Nobody needs to be afraid of me, so long as they stay out of my way, mind their own business. Survival of the fittest. Isn’t that what they say? Well, I intend to survive and that is all there is to it. I am going to make my mark. I am unstoppable, indestructible, and nobody is ever going to make me pay.

Nowhere. Emptiness. Where should I be? What is my purpose here? What should I become? What and where am I destined to be? Who am I supposed to be with? These are some of the hundreds of questions I find myself pondering day in and day out. From waking up to going to sleep--or well lack thereof when it comes to sleep--but this nonetheless probes deep reflection.

I find myself pondering these questions out of the feeling of lostness. It is not true and completely lostness. I do and do not have the answers--which is the hardest part. I only have bits and pieces to the puzzle and I have to work with that, but I don’t want to. I want more pieces that seem impossible to find.

I find more of myself and what I want to be, but then I am still lost at what I want to be and who I am. It is almost a never-ending conflict of what I am and what I want to be. I think I know, but only to be proven that I don’t know. Along with this, I do not know where to look for more answers. Look in spots I have never looked before. The feeling of being lost haunts me constantly.

I feel lost, alone, helpless, and misunderstood constantly--all the time. I feel inferior and feel like I am always in an uphill battle fighting--fighting for myself, all alone. It’s this constant state of misunderstanding that kills because I feel as though no one truly--truly--knows and understands me. Maybe I am looking for a level of understanding and connection that is only known and understood to me.

Maybe it is a feeling of unsettlement that these original feelings are causing me which makes me unsatisfied in life. Maybe it is the constant miss understanding my whole life that has caused me this. If that is the case I would think I would have adapted to this, but I haven’t. Maybe it is the lonely nights I spend doing everything for: working out, writing, reading, learning, listening to music, laying on the floor, sitting on the floor in the darkness of the basement of the kitchen, maybe it’s the laying in bed staring at the walls looking for the answers in every aspect of my life, maybe it’s the pain caused by others from the past that continues to hurt me deep down, maybe its the pain my mother causes me that I try to stop and try to fix the problem but it is never enough, maybe it’s thinking I had a healthy relationship with my now ex but then realizing it wasn’t because I was losing myself to help her so so much with all her problems since deep down I am a very caring person and I hate to see people suffer and in pain, but I never show that I am caring to most people so I am not taken advantage of since my mom uses my forgiving nature and my emotions as her punchlines to win an argument where she beats me down for feeling hurt. Maybe it’s not being able to sleep well on a constant basis for as long as I can remember. Maybe it’s me burning myself out at work all the time. Maybe it’s the depression that haunts and strikes me when I am weak. Maybe it’s me wanting to give up because I am tired of fighting. Maybe it is because I do not know when to stop fighting and concede. Maybe it’s me trying to hold everything together like a bunch of glass shards from a broken mug. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it is because deep down I am hurt and continually hurt by things but I never show it. Maybe it is because of that, that I am in pain. Maybe it is the nightmares that scar my memory. The scenes of death of myself and others. Not just death by the detailed experiences of death and torture. Maybe it is waking up from those nightmares in pain mentally and physically. Maybe it is the feeling of getting impaled or the feeling of death I experience in those dreams that traumatizes me. Maybe it is that. Maybe it is those dreams of pain. Maybe that shows the pain I suffer is deeply embedded in me, so deep down it speaks to me through my dreams. Maybe it’s the never-ending thinking I have to cope with the pain and suffering I have. The lack of being able to relax and not do anything. Maybe it is the fact I always feel like I got something to prove in every aspect of life. Maybe it was being bullied as a kid. Maybe it is from being hit in the head over and over by my mother as a discipline. Maybe it is the “you are to be seen and not heard” or the silence when out in public or the constant reminder that I am a child and know nothing. Maybe that is why I have an addiction to learn and to know. Maybe that is why I feel like I have something to prove. Maybe that is why I care so much about others, especially those close to me. Maybe, maybe I am not normal. Maybe I am broken and do not belong in society. Maybe that is the case. Maybe it is true that I don’t think like other people. Maybe I think on some wacked upscale that I do not belong or conform to society. Maybe that is the case. Maybe it is. Maybe that is the reason for my pain. Maybe.

Who knows? Cause I sure as hell don’t and get so tempted just to fucking give up, but I don’t and that is probably one of the most terrifying things--the day I truly quit. The day it is too much. That day--that day--has a date attached to it that I do not know when it will appear, but it will probably strike when I am knocked down in life. The day I do not get back on my feet. That will be the day it is done and over.

I saved them from fires, waters, bad men, madmen, but it didn’t matter at all. They still feared me. They were afraid of my god-like powers, of the wrath I could bring them if I ever turned mad. They had nothing to fear, yet they did.

When they tried to kill me for the first time, I forgave them. But when they tried it the second time, I couldn’t forgive them. I didn’t want to hurt them, but they forced me to unleash my wrath upon them. So much blood was spilled on that day, and all of it could’ve been avoided. All they had to do was accept me for being different.

Being afraid of someone or something different was always in their nature. Since their dawn, the one who was different was shunned or murdered. Yes, they did horrible things to those who were different when all they had to do was accept them.

I became the villain when I refused to no longer let the stagnation of the people in my inner circle inhibit my desire for something more.

Realizing my growing discontent in my current situation created a barrier between staying in touch and breaking old habits.

Learning that growth does not come without fear, discomfort, and the recognition of your self-worth.

I became the villain when I began to choose myself first and prioritizing progress over avoidable distractions.

Putting my own needs above those of others was viewed as selfish, inconsiderate, and a complete deviation from the status quo.

Holding myself to a high standard and constant improvement unintentionally offended those who successfully met their goals and are satisfied with their current situation.

I became the villain when I decided that I needed a drastic change in order to rehabilitate my emotional well-being.

Moving on to new things does not take away from the lessons and sense of direction that have been generated from previous experiences.

Taking microscopic and overanalyzed steps to become the person I increasingly fantasize about has become completely ineffective.

My desire for more does not lessen or degrade the battles others have endured.

My desire for more comes solely from a goal to create a life for myself that I am proud of.

My desire for more is nothing other than an extension of the path necessary to reach my own inner peace.

Once there was a little bud

sprouting out of the ground.

Fresh, and new.

to this beautiful world.

Soon, it reveals itself

into a glorious rose.

Every petal splashed

with deep crimson glows.

Even with her beauty,

The rose still feels lonely.

With no one but the grass

to dance along with the wind.

Suddenly, a guest arrives;

a busy bumble bee!

He greets the rose with joy

and proceeds to make honey.

The rose is estatic.

Every day, she eagerly awaits

for the arrival of the bees,

with hummingbirds and butterflies

whom she passes time with.

What a wonderful life,

with good friends

and the best views of the world,

the rose thought.

But one day, it all changed.

No bees came to visit her.

She was confused...

didn't they enjoy the pleasure?

Day after day,

no one arrived.

She called out to the wind

And started to cry.

The rose feels weaker now.

Her petals are losing colour

Now a pale red

She's under the weather.

All she could do was wait...

wait...

wait...

Her petals are wilting

It's almost the end.

She lets out a tear

Soon, she'll be dying.

Suddenly, a familiar voice

echoed in the silence.

She looked up and saw

Her old comrade.

"Hush now rose, don't cry,"

says the bumblebee.

"Look around you,

you've created many new lives."

The rose looks around

and she sees an amazing sight;

many small buds

popping into sight.

The rose thanks the bee

with one last smile

and heaves her final breath...

A few weeks later,

the field is painted

with hundreds of pretty roses

swaying in the wind.

And when the bees arrive

along with the hummingbirds

and butterflies,

they remember the rose

that started it all.

' New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.'

– Lao Tzu