The party was like a snake, slowly wrapping around the guests until they could no longer move - the dance floor empty, the balconies sparse. Maybelle let her sandals dangle off one finger, tired and unwilling to move.

Cassidy, Taylor, and Daysha were still gathered around a cocktail table, empty glasses pushed to the side to make room for a tarot card reading. Maybelle had gone to the bathroom then decided to wait here, near the doors, instead of making her way back over. Her feet hurt and her head felt muddied a little as she leaned against a pillar and admired the ballroom.

It had been a surprise that her friend group had even been invited. Chelsea and Brian had gotten engaged, which had been the absolute talk of campus, for the seniors at least. Maybelle couldn't imagine being engaged; hell, she'd never even had a romantic partner before. And then they'd thrown the most grand engagement party their college had ever seen, thanks to Chelsea's family fortune. Campus was small, and pretty much all the seniors knew each other, but Maybelle still hadn't expected the little champagne-accompanied invitation at her apartment door. Maybe Chelsea left one at everyone's door.

The party was held in a historical building just off campus, only a ten minute walk for Maybelle and her friends, but they'd never been inside before today. It was once a grand hotel, according to the plaques, and standing inside it now, Maybelle wished she could time travel back and see it in its full, bustling glory.

She imagined butlers holding leather suitcases in their gloved hands, trolleying them up to the rooms that now held snack tables and offices. Women wearing pearls and little hats would walk into the ballroom, short heels clicking on the marble floor. They'd watch the men at the bar across the way, adjust their lipstick and pretend they didn't notice when the men watched them back.

Maybelle looked up into the sparkling chandeliers, across at the staircase winding up to the balcony, watching two people she vaguely knew flirt with each other, bumping shoulders and suppressing smiles. The ballroom was almost empty now, just a scattering of people at its edges, hidden partially by the large flower arrangements - pink roses and massive fern leaves. Chelsea and Brian were long gone now, and the warm lighting was dim, the pop music replaced by generic Muzak drifting faintly through the room.

"Still here, Maybe?"

Calvin stood just on the other side of the pillar she was leaning against. She was surprised he hadn't brought his friends around with him. They'd been lingering around her table all evening, making jokes while the rest of them rolled their eyes. At one point Maybelle had to pull Taylor away from body-slamming Seb, who kept telling her that her red dress made her look like a crab.

"Still don't know how to tie a tie?" she quipped automatically, peering around the pillar at him. He'd shown up with a knotted tie that, while maybe technically correct, looked horribly uneven. Now it hung over his neck completely undone, pulling her eyes to the unbuttoned button on his dress shirt.

She moved at the same time he did, and they ended up toe-to-toe, looking at each other. Maybelle didn't like that she was close enough to see the beginning of stubble on a face she considered to be always cleanly shaven. "I didn't realize you'd care so much," he said, looking down at their feet. His were in worn tennis shoes, despite the rest of his outfit being formal, and hers were bare. "Forgot how to wear shoes?"

"If you keep staring I'll assume you have a fetish," she told him. "At least I tried." Maybelle held her small pastel pink sandals in between them, brushing them against his stomach and causing Calvin to take a step back.

He narrows his eyes, a familiar expression to her. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" She knew he was referring to the fetish comment, but she didn't engage. Boys were predictable, and predictably, he trailed after her when she said nothing and walked around him.

When she reached her table of friends, he was just a step behind. What she hadn't noticed was Seb had squeezed himself between Taylor and Daysha, and Cassidy was explaining his tarot cards to him.

"Basically it means you're gonna die," Taylor interjected melodramatically.

Daysha laughed, and Cassidy shook her head. "No, it doesn't." Cassidy's long fingers splayed over the Three of Swords, and she directed her intense gaze on Seb. "It means heartbreak; you think you've found what you're looking for but it falls through your fingers, lost, leaving you feeling isolated. Not necessarily over a person, even."

"Heartbreak over something other than a person? Sounds like Seb. He'll probably lose his last save in a video game or something," Calvin laughed.

Seb held both index fingers up in front of him. "Whoa, man. As if you have any more game than I do. All that Magic the Gathering is like girl-repellant."

"I'm actually extremely sought-after," Calvin tried to say, but Taylor drowned him out with, "At least he's actually nice to people sometimes." Even though she was a foot shorter than Seb, she was still the most intimidating person Maybelle knew. Luckily for Seb, they were all well aware that Taylor would actually rather sleep with him than strangle him, despite the way she acted.

The rest of them let Taylor and Seb argue, and Cassidy spun her arms around, her long, bat-winged sleeves almost knocking over an empty glass. "Calvin! Your turn for a reading."

He picked up a card suspiciously, moving in towards the table, brushing up against Maybelle's side. "I don't think so."

Cassidy deftly took the card back and shuffled the deck. "If you play something called Magic then I'm sure you'll survive this," she told him breezily.

He made a grim but thoughtful expression, and Maybelle laughed into her hand. He turned at the sound, pinning her with eyes like a hawk. "Fine." Lower, he said to Maybelle, "But put those away, or I'll be too distracted to pay attention." He glanced under the table at her feet, and she huffed.

"Yeah, right. You could make an effort to just not look at me at all, how about that?"

Calvin snorted. "Easily." And Maybelle accidentally caught Daysha wiggling her eyebrows at her. Cassidy had a more subtle satisfied smile on her face. Her friends thought that Calvin and Maybelle's bickering actually meant something, but Maybelle was less convinced.

Calvin was an ever-present distraction, Maybelle knew that. They shared three classes this semester, and each one felt like another opportunity for him to show her up. He was stupidly smart and wildly good at debating, whereas Maybelle was good on paper and couldn't speak when other people looked at her. She'd endured his presence since freshman year, when they'd gotten to know each other during a group debate in a philosophy class. Despite being on the same side of the debate, he had successfully humiliated her by writing out an argument for her to say. It had been riddled with nonsensical and pretentious phrasing, and when she stumbled over her words he'd swooped in like a savior. She wished for every moment after that that she had just broken from his script, but her mind always went blank in moments where she most needed it.

From there Maybelle had poured all of her energy into what she was good at: thinking ahead. She let him have his debates, but she aced every written test and paper. They continued to play this game in their classes today - the two of them consistently had the highest grades in every one of their classes. She knew there was a good chance he liked her, but now that the end of senior year was approaching, what was the point? And besides that, did she like him?

Cassidy was beckoning Calvin close, whispering something as he bent across the table to hear it. Maybelle was jostled by Taylor, who had come around to the other side of the table after calling Seb a dickweed. Maybelle had completely zoned out and missed Calvin's reading, and was beginning to feel the full weight of the night. It was late.

She saw the cards on the table: Seven of Cups for the past, a reversed Eight of Wands for the present, and The Lovers for the future. Maybelle didn't have any of the meanings memorized, but the last one felt self-explanatory. She pushed away from the table, fairly sure Cassidy was in control of the cards, not that she'd ever accuse her friend of that to her face. But in this case it seemed likely.

Taylor took this opportunity to pull her to the side, nearly poking them both in the eye with ferns. "How does my makeup look?" She peered through the leaves back at the table, now a few feet away.

Maybelle did a once-over of her friend. "You literally look like you did at the beginning of the night. Still stunning." It was true, not even a hair was out of place on her blonde head. She must've used a lot of hairspray. Taylor waved a hand. "So my face isn't red or anything? Seb's such a bastard."

After a sigh, Maybelle said, "Yeah, you always say that."

Crossing her arms, Taylor looked at Maybelle. "Alright, Sassy. I hear you complain about Calvin all the time so I don't wanna hear it. Speaking of, why didn't you dance with him?"

Now Maybelle frowned over at the rest of the group. Calvin was still talking to Cassidy, pointing at his cards. His hair was kind of mussed. "He never asked."

Taylor let out a prolonged groan. "This isn't the fifties. You guys have rom-com levels of sexual tension. You could have asked him."

Scrunching up her nose, Maybelle turned back to Taylor. "I don't think that's accurate. And what about you and Seb?" Immediately Taylor's chin jutted into the air, but she said nothing, which was a telling sign. "Taylor? Did something happen?" It would be a relief.

"I might be going to his place tonight. Maybe."

Maybelle internally squealed and externally couldn't stop a grin. "Oh my god, finally."

Taylor was two inch shorter than Maybelle even with her heels on, but she managed to still give the impression of looming over her. "Not a word. It's totally casual, but just, feels right."

Daysha was calling their names, so Maybelle just nodded back, grin still in place. Taylor smiled a little too, contrasting it by saying, "But I might not. Just maybe."

"Maybe, maybe, maybe." The rest of the group was wandering over, minus Cassidy, who was putting her cards away. But it was Calvin, who was behind Daysha and Seb, who had spoken. 'Maybe,' his nickname for Maybelle.

Her eyes skimmed over him, but she then pointedly ignored him. When Cassidy joined them, Maybelle noticed how quiet the ballroom had become. Nearly empty, as it was probably approaching 2 AM. When they opened the hotel's large front doors, a gust of cold night air hit them, sending goosebumps down Maybelle's bare arms.

Maybelle watched Taylor mutter something to Seb, who had to bend down to hear her, then they parted, Seb going left and Taylor going right. Daysha and Cassidy turned right and called goodbye to the boys. Maybelle was last to descend the hotel's stairs, and she watched Calvin, tie almost lifted off his shoulders by the wind, turn left with the barest wave of his hand. Without saying goodbye, he walked away.

Her bare feet hit the cold sidewalk, damp from a little rain, and she turned right to follow her friends back. But she did turn back once, just to look, but he was just a shadow in the night by then.

regrettably,

the first word must be the finest;

a promise of what is to come.

regrettably,

you've arrived, unaware that there is no message,

your eyes skimming

--if this far at all--

for the shine of stars on the horizon,

a morsel of life to feed your mind.

regrettably,

you will find nothing here.

just an empty written page.

scribbled heedlessly and meaninglessly

and in the middle of a night not quite

dark enough for my taste--or yours, perhaps.

regrettably,

i am tired.

and the sky is still too light.

and my dry eyes blink in time to the ticking of the

globe, spinning on its axis.

slowly.

regrettably,

you're here too,

wasting your time

on someone else's regrets.

when we would dance like lunatics in the kitchen

or talk for hours about your awful boyfriend

our secrets only our own

when we would contemplate groceries together

or attempt to cook a new recipe for our fake food blog

it was a unique kind of freedom

when we would giggle and drink cheap wine

or turn all the lights off and watch bad tv

we were untouchable

sometimes I want to just thank you

for being the best friend I never thought I'd get to have

cause despite the time that it took to

get us here, we made it.

even if we can never go back

let's not forget it

I know you'll never get this letter. But I wanted to say thank you. And I miss you.

I'm being melodramatic, I know. It's only been a couple of days. But it's not like that for me. It's been years.

Only now, when you're away, do I have the strength to say this: I've been waiting for you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. From that day we met two years ago, I wanted to know you. I wanted to spend every simple second with you.

It never mattered what we were doing, only if you were there.

Maybe it seemed like nothing to you. I almost hope it did. I always hope it didn't.

Don't you understand that I've never felt this way? Don't you understand this sinking feeling, this beautiful, wrong, perpetual, ugly feeling?

No, I guess you wouldn't understand. Nevermind, you shouldn't. I don't expect you to love me back.

So. How have you been, without me? Is it even any different?

The crumpled note flew through the air and hit the rim of the trash can.

It bounced, then fell onto the ground.

No one moved to pick it up.

My self-image

is like looking

in a scratched mirror.

I get the basic concept

of myself, but it's distorted.

Maybe I'm not actually fat,

or ugly, or stupid,

but that's all

I can really see.

It's too scratched for

me to make out

anything important.

So I make it up myself.

i can't escape

even and

especially

in my dreams

i see you

because any

time away

i miss you

but even my

dream self

wont ask

the question

on my tongue

or dare

admit the

dangerous

bottled

truth

real or fake

i let

you go

every

time

without

fail

do my

thoughts

stray so far

from

reality

that my

dreams

cant even

imagine

us

?

My wife works in admissions, and almost exactly a month ago, she came home from working a grad fair with a flyer for a low-res creative writing MFA program. I laughed, for several reasons.

The idea is incredibly impractical because money time children life. I also don’t need it; I’ve got my job, and I’m fortunate enough that it’s not going anywhere. Adjuncting someday could be fun, but financially speaking, I’d be better off doing quite literally anything else. An MFA is a lazy “maybe someday” daydream for me very similar to a monthlong European vacation. Hypothetically, if I bent my will and wallet toward it I could eventually make it happen, but am I? really?

Mostly though, I laughed because as I told my wife, “It’s been two years since I’ve written literally anything.”

Those anythings were one-act plays that I sent around to a few competitions in the hopes of seeing one staged. (One finalist status and a lot of radio silence.) Three years before that was the personal essay I actually worked on for real and sent around to a few literary magazines whose niche it seemed to fit. (It didn’t.) And before that was sixteen chapters of a novel I abandoned. Total readership: around 7 for the essay (people who I named in it and wanted an OK from, but who did say they liked it), X anonymous judges for the plays, and 1 for the novel (wife, though I don’t think I ever showed her anything past chapter 10).

That all did feel a little discouraging, but mostly, I hadn’t written anything in two years because I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. So I laughed, but even while I scoffed at myself, I realized I missed having something to say.

The well still felt very dry, so I turned to the ol’ algorithmic witching rod to hunt for a contest that could give me a topic. Google brought back a bunch of uninteresting stuff, including a contest about the end of the world, and I dropped the matter until I decided that I was going to do this, I was going to write something. So I created a Prose account and wrote about toast.

And then somebody Liked it. And somebody else. And eventually 15 people liked “Little Things,” which means that with the work of a couple hours, I had gotten roughly double the readership I had in the preceding decade.

There’s that bromide about “if you reach one person” that people trot out to cheer up artists who fail to find an audience, and usually, I think the cliché just pisses said artist off more. I have to say, though, Jesus did 15 feel nice.

I’ve been trying to give as much back to Prose people as I’m receiving, reading liking and commenting both on random new posts and posts of people who do the same with my stuff. I’ve probably missed some people. And I’m going to have to slow down my Prose pace some, both writing and reading, because I have this bad habit of feeling most creative when I have a stack of dishes or grading that I’m supposed to be dealing with. But I wanted to write a post to express my appreciation.

I will now (and for the only time, I promise) obnoxiously tag the people who have liked something I’ve posted. Thank you. The reads and likes and comments and reposts and follows mean a lot. Keep on doing your respective things.

I want to love and I want to be loved the way I hear other people talk about their significant others but right now I’m not enough of a person to give what I have to someone else. I want what I am to be enough but I know it won’t be enough. I don’t want to be half of a whole...I want to be whole with complimenting pair so we can complement each other. I want someone to hold when I get cold at night. Someone who can handle me talking before I think. Someone to call me out on bullshit but right now I need to find balance in myself before I invite someone else in. I need to work on me but I want someone to talk to. Someone to love and to listen to. Someone I can love and miss and adore. I want to see them and smile because when I see them I see happiness but right now I need to be my own happiness before I let someone be mine.

So...maybe right now I just need a friend...and I work on the whole romantic relationship thing later. Maybe I’ll have a friend I click within a way that gives me a life partner. Someone I get and someone who gets me with us needing to explain. Someone on my side by choice. Someone who has a corner I can be in and doesn’t mind listening to me bitch and moan about writer’s block and how damn tired I am all the time. Maybe a friend is what I need right now before I get carried away in dreams of love. You can love a friend...right?

But...maybe I should wait to make friends till I live in one place...because right now I'm moving around too much. Maybe you can’t be actual good friends with someone you can’t see in person. Maybe I should wait...maybe in my head till is sort this out self-love is enough.

dear people,

dear the broken-hearted,

dear the injured,

dear the abused,

dear the insane,

dear the hated,

dear the dreamers,

dear the unpopular,

dear the different,

dear people,

you are gorgeous,

you are wanted,

you are cared for,

you are needed,

you are lively,

you are strong.

you are loved.