Lightning rips through the sky as Amelia bolts from her house.

She runs and she runs and she urges her legs to continue, to just go faster. Her body will tire soon, and she doesn’t want to risk someone following her into the night.

Water splashes up to her knees. Mud splatters, caking her shoes and ankles. The rain barely bothers her, so used to the twists and turns and hills of the neighborhood that the assault from the fog and heavy water fail to blind her.

* * *

Amelia’s 9:30 A.M. alarm sounds.

Not five seconds pass before she rolls over to slap the snooze on her alarm clock, halting it for the time being.

The alarm attempts to wake her again at 9:45 A.M., but she turns it off altogether.

At 10 A.M., an alarm from within Ame’s HoloTech implants sounds. A voice calls “wake up, Miss Drake!” followed by a ringing, all from inside her head. It’ll cause a headache if she doesn't move away from her bed within the minute. Amelia groans and swings her legs to the ground, bringing crumpled sheets with her. She opens her eyes and begins the the daily motions.

Remove her wrist braces.

Pull off her pajamas.

Stumble over to her desk chair and pull on the shorts hanging off the back.

Pack books into a too-heavy backpack.

Go back to her nightstand and grab a pain reliever from the bottle in the drawer.

Walk to her closet and grab weather-appropriate clothing.

By the time she’s done, a message from her brother pops up in the corner of her HoloVision.

Miles Tanaka: breakfast is getting cold, hurry up!

She sighs, slinging her backpack onto her sore shoulders, and grabs a pencil to stick in her back pocket. A wall calendar catches her eye when she stands straight. X’s mark off the days that have passed so far. Thirteen have come and gone.

Amelia’s grip on her pencil tightens.

* * *

Rows of rain-soaked hedges appear on either side of Amelia as she runs, the lawns progressively more well-groomed and unused as neighborhoods shift from one to the next.

She stops in the middle of the street when she notices a child playing in the rain, unafraid of the cold or far-off thunder. Amelia wavers, happy to see at least one family taking advantage of their carefully kept yards, when a parent yells out the front window for the child to come in. The disappointment is clear in the child’s change of demeanor. Amelia grits her teeth, her mood turning sour, when the sound of an engine overpowers the racket of the yelling and the storm.

A car barrels down the road and Amelia notices it just before it’s too late. She panics and stumbles towards the sidewalk. The car’s horn blares as it speeds past, its headlights striking a muddled path in the downcast atmosphere.

The event leaves her frozen on the side of the road. It takes a few minutes, but her breath relaxes from haggard back to calm. There is almost no chance the car would’ve hit her if she remained in the street, but there is still the danger of cars manually steered by a driver.

Recovered, Amelia looks around and remembers her destination. The halt in her journey almost makes her head home, but the returning shame leads her back on her path.

Eventually, a forest replaces the houses on Amelia’s right. She appreciates the light cover as several branches reach over and obstruct the rain.

Amelia soon slows to a jog, her body wearing out and hurting like hell.

Her legs feel heavy during the last few blocks towards the entrance to a gated community. The closer she gets, the more eager she is, yet her body attempts to hold her back. To keep her from returning to the garden alone.

Once the gate comes into view, Amelia runs into the rain once more to punch in the entry code. Disappointment fills her when it fails to open the gate obstructing her path.

* * *

The long awaited version 2.0 update for the augmented reality device, HoloVision, released last week. While the software existed for many years, several side-effects required resolution before general distribution. Many kinks were worked out over time, but some still exist with the released update Write a two page paper arguing whether the software should have been held back until all side-effects were resolved.

Amelia has no idea what the assignment is telling her to do.

While pushing back from her desk chair, she reads it over again, but still gleams nothing. Even with the supposed edge she was supposed to have since the software was patented under the Drake name. Her eyes glaze over around the tenth read-through, and she leans back in her chair to switch tabs and clear her mind. A James Bond film remains paused, so she presses play and sits back, cradling one wrist in the palm of her other hand.

The movie fills the room with much desired ambient noise. Her eyes shift to her notebook where nonsensical scribbles lay in place of notes. Nothing there will help her decipher the homework. She remembers the lesson, but can’t recall an explanation of the assignment.

The pressure in her wrists build as she sits there. It’s as if metal cords wound themselves tightly around her hands—a mirrored frustration to the mental struggle of attempting to understand basic instructions. Various points in her back grow sore from sitting up in a chair for so long.

Goddamn Fibro. What she would give to be free of it for just a few minutes.

The movie continues in the background but she can’t pay attention. Her eyes glaze over as she stares at the screen, the sensation in her wrists tightening even further, her back and shoulders and knees and, God, even her arms. A building sensation grows in all points in her body—in every joint—even as she sits completely still. She becomes discouraged to move, afraid that it will cause the sensations to grow become as fiery as the feeling in her wrists.

Amelia squeezes her eyes shut to try and force it all away, but this makes her focus on it more. It’s not so much pain as it is an uncomfortable awareness of every sensation that is generally filtered out. Amelia fails to resist the temptation to lash out—knowing it will only cause a temporary relief—and kicks out at the wastebasket underneath her desk. Crumpled papers and snapped pencils tumble out, followed by a broken picture frame and wall calendar. She remembers her fit of anger from that morning and pulls her feet up to avoid the broken glass, hiding her face in her knees.

Tears prick Amelia’s eyes as she is overwhelmed, folding in on herself while the movie continues.

* * *

Determined to find a way through the gate, and feeling as if she'll explode if halted now, Amelia opens an overhead map of the area in her HoloVision. The map projects onto a screen appearing a foot in front of her. She scans it, zooming in and out, using her eyes to navigate the interface and search for an alternate route. When she overlays hiking trails onto the map, she notices a forest path that diverts into the neighborhood.

Using the technology creates a throbbing in the front of her skull, and she scowls at the unfamiliar side-effect. 

Amelia regrets her decision to leave the house without any sort of preparation. The moment she jogs into the forest and out of the rain, Amelia realizes how thoroughly soaked she is. Her knees threaten to give out, her joints wearing out and struggling to withhold the strain as she continues.

* * *

Amelia steps into the hallway, looking to where Miles’ parents chat to her right. Their laughter overpowers the sound of the television. They usually seem happy, their optimism amazing Amelia sometimes. She’s seen their reaction to several hardships over the years, including when their elder son, Eli, was at fault for a car crash that bound their younger son, Miles, to a wheelchair.

The comfort of their idle chatter distracts Amelia from her pain long enough to feel emotionally refreshed as she turns to the other end of the hall. She smiles, but her strides remain hesitant when she approaches Miles’ door.

Amelia knocks and her eyes wander down to a hole near the bottom of the door that makes her cheeks flush. A reminder of a time she’d lashed out. She can’t even recall what had gotten her to that point. Whether it was anger, distress, or general clumsiness.

Her head snaps up when Miles responds to her presence, the thoughts dispersing.

“I’m busy.”

“Miles, it’s me. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Amelia takes the door unlocking, despite his silence, as a yes and opens it after the whirring sounds of the door’s lock halt. Miles sits hunched over his desk, not turning to greet his adopted sister.

“Have you gotten to the Ethics homework yet?”

“No, I’m still trying to finish Calculus.” Miles taps on the textbook with his pencil.

Amelia wanders farther into Miles’ room, noticing the clothes strewn about the floor. The whole room’s a mess. His trash can is overflowing, the comforter and pillows for his bed are on a small couch. She frowns, remembering her promise to help him tidy up earlier in the week.

She picks up his pair of AR glasses while mulling over how to continue, wondering if the non-implant counterparts to HoloVision got the update as well.

“Oh, okay. Well, when you-“

“Look, finals are coming up and I’ve already wasted too much time. I have to finish my own work, and maybe then I can help you.”

“I get that. I’m behind too, Miles.”

He’s stressed, Amelia knows that. But he doesn’t need to be an ass. Her grip on his glasses tightens.

“I’ve been staring at the essay prompt for over an hour. It’s hard to think with the fog,” she tries again, but he misunderstands her.

“I thought you liked dreary weather like this.”

He isn’t listening to her. The pain in Amelia’s back returns and she has to shut her eyes tightly, trying to push the feeling away.

“Can’t you leave me be? I just can’t deal with you right now,” he says, not so successfully hiding his anger. “There’s enough on my plate without feeling responsible for you, too”

Amelia finds herself backed into the doorway, pulling in on herself. The rest of her symptoms come back and claim her attention, overwhelming her once more.

The volume of her voice mirrors her emotions when she speaks. “I need to be with someone right now, Miles. Why are you being like this? Do you even know what today is?”

Miles turns to her, his brown eyes hard with irritation and exhaustion. “It’s Friday, why are you shouting?”

Amelia is too distracted to notice how tightly she's holding Miles' AR glasses. “Because you’re not listening to me! You’ve been distant all week, I–" The glasses snap in half, and she stares down at her hands in shock.

"Seriously, Amelia?!"

A loud bout of laughter comes down the hall, making both look towards the door. Amelia turns back to Miles, then to the hall with a scowl.

Without another word, she pulls the door shut behind her.

Amelia storms down the hallway—past her bedroom, stuffy with failure and frustration—and into the cramped entryway of the house. Mrs. Tanaka looks over as Amelia grabs her sneakers from the shoe alcove.

“Honey? Is something wrong?”

“I’m going out,” she snaps.

The front door slams harder than Amelia intends, but she takes off before giving thought to the effect it might have. Not allowing the gate to slow her down, she takes a path through the muddy lawn and jumps over a broken section of fence.

"Your artwork is fantastic!" 

You have beautiful eyes. 

"You wrote that music?? It was so fun!" 

I get lost in your smile. 

"Tell me about the dream you had last night." 

I want to hold you.

"By the way, I watched that show you recommended the other day."

We would be such a good match.

"You're a dork."

My goodness, you are just too cute.

"Do you want to go for a walk in the park?"

Please kiss me.

You'll never know how thankful I was—how lucky and ecstatic—that you saw through my coded messages and found the double meaning hidden underneath. Flirting never made much sense to me. My social skills were, and still are, shit. But relating to people, and finding the wonderful traits in them, is how I managed. 

You're incredible, and you deserve to be told so. But you're also super fricken cute. Once I gained the courage and ability to say it, not a day goes past where I don't tell you.

I know I shouldn't envy,

I really shouldn't care, 

But they have a strength and bravery

For an act I'd never dare.

You may guess roses are the best,

Favored by any and all around,

But you really shouldn't jest,

When dandelions should be crowned.


Whether yellow bright and plentiful–

Subtle, but nevertheless beautiful–

Or made of seeds, fluffy and white,

Dandelions are really quite a sight.

They make flower crowns

To match a young kid’s gown,

Or small makeshift bouquets.

Even if they don’t live after these days,

Dandelions are just happy for the joy
They can bring some small boy.

Roses can't grant you a wish–

Not in the way dandelions can.

Roses prick you, hurt you,

Impose a hard to pass ban.

We’re altered, pruned,

Preferred changed, rather than,

Enjoyed in our natural state.

So yes, dandelions often die young,

But to them it is a pleasure.

And it’s not just children they are among,

But to all they are a treasure,

For childhood memories simply cannot measure.

I am but a rose.

Full of beauty, sure,

Some may even say pure.

But I am not loved as I stand

Stuck as some cheap human brand.

Preparing and giving a presentation about a 12th Century lai took up most of my day. It's surprisingly fun talking about the personifications of Nature and Nurture fighting for control over the characters of a story, particularly when getting to focus on their fight over Merlin. 

An added discussion on the medieval story's take on whether gender is presentation/performance or biology only added to my enjoyment and general stimulation from the class.

(Check out the French medieval lai entitled Silence, it's incredibly interesting)

After scanning in my notes from my graphic novel film class to send in to the DRC, I got a text telling me to not leave my apartment. There was a riot going on not even six blocks away. Some anarchists had infiltrated a peaceful, city-approved MayDay protest, smashing storefront windows and being physically aggressive towards cops.

It was alarming to once again see footage of officers in full riot gear, knowing how close they were in proximity to me. They used city buses, while passengers were still inside, to corner the rioters and finally halt their progress. That was the most troubling part to me, honestly.

Both events, the presentation and the riot, felt tied together in theme. People pushing the boundaries and confines of society. Although, there's a huge difference between an author creating a fictional tale that questions the confines of strict gender roles, and physical, real life action that puts people in danger.

All in all, it was a pretty interesting day! I doubt the rest of my week will top this, although I'm excited to see a production of Chicago on Friday. 

I'm also feeling more motivated than ever to become more proactive about writing a good amount every day, and getting used to sharing my prose with others. 

Something about this week just feels right.

The human warriors could not understand the damage they dealt when they set fire to the Winter Maple. Its bare branches at the height of summer appeared dead, and thus excellent kindling, to their naive eyes.

Leo felt the pain first. The growing battle around him as humans maimed and ensnared his fellow elves left his mind the instant he saw the flames encasing the grove of maples. He didn't think their destruction by such normal, primitive means was even possible. The horror left him in a trance, trying to figure what the ramifications would be. They hit him before he found an answer on his own.

The warriors around him thought he'd been struck as he cried out in a sudden, intensified pain. No sword struck through him. No blood fell or bruise formed. Even he could not find the source of his pain. All he felt was the calming strength that had coursed through his veins since his birth suddenly vanish, followed by a burning sensation akin to what the Summer Maple must be suffering.

Every member of the chivalrous warrior families fell to the same fate. The magic that once surrounded the grove of seasonal maples fled as fire consumed all four noble trees. With it, the magical connection between the maples and their elves severed.

The rest of the elves watched in horror as their leaders and warriors, the most powerful members of their community, fell to the ground in their greatest time of need.

The humans didn't make the connection between their setting fire to the tree and the sudden and dramatic defeat of the enemy fighters. It was a victory of pure luck.

Nienna was last to succumb to the pain.

Unlike the rest, she had no point of reference for why her body suddenly felt like it was being seared to the bone. The horse she had been riding—galloping back towards her village in a frantic attempt to warn her people, far too late, of an incoming attack—reared at its riders scream. Nienna fell to the ground, having lost her grip on the reins, and cried out a second time as her side slammed into a large, jagged rock.

Her horse didn't stray far as she writhed on the ground, tears streaking down her face. Any attempts to rise and continue her attempt to warn her people failed as the burning pain spread to every fiber of her being.

She blacked out before a minute could pass.

–

Leo's brother. Nienna's mothers. Their grandmother. The other village leaders and their entire families of Spring, Autumn, Summer, and Winter fell that day. A momentary crippling at a time when a single moment cost them everything.

–

When Nienna came to on the forest floor, she remained dazed, momentarily forgetting the panic and fear from before she passed out. Her eyes locked on to a bizarre event in the night sky above her. Stars were falling—blazing down and across the sea of black.

Leo woke moments later, his hands chained together and attached to a human's horse. As the rider dragged him along, adding to the number of miles between himself and Nienna, he too watched the falling stars. The shared sight sent a peculiar sense of calm over them both, even as their entire world lay broken around them, their bodies still aching with pain.

The two cousins, one Summer and the other Winter, wouldn't find each other for months. But in that moment, they were connected by the sky full of fire.

Everything was fire.

The sky. The water. The trees.

The orange swirled into the yellow. The red into the orange. Colors shifted and new artwork appeared before me every minute or so.

It was a painting. A wonderful, ever-changing painting. I knew it wouldn’t last long– sunsets never do. I still planned on laying on the shore for as long as nature continued to put on the spellbinding show.

Laying there in that open space, after crossing a bridge and taking a short trek through the forest, was something I did as often as I could. Somehow, impossibly, I was the only one who had figured out how beautiful the area could be in the short time it took the sun to pass the horizon and disappear for the night. At least, the only one who appreciated it enough to make the trip out nearly every evening.

My bike lay where I had let it fall an hour earlier–my book bag not far from it. A few papers and books were scattered around the blanket I had set out from when I tried to get some homework done before sunset came (an unsuccessful endeavor).

The longer I lay there, the deeper I slipped into the environment and out of my own head. All of the sights and sounds and smells completely filled my senses. Toads living near the creek I crossed earlier sang progressively louder the longer I lay there. A few crickets were beginning to join in as well, all along with the steady beat of the water gently sloshing against the shore: a symphony accompanying the colorful show. Then there was the comforting scent of fresh pine that reminded me of hikes from my childhood.

If I wasn’t careful, it could all lull me to sleep.

I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest with a soft sigh. The show wouldn’t last for much longer, not that I had expected it to. The short escape was still nice.

It was when I was about to gather my things that I noticed her. She was farther down the shore, kneeling in the grass with an object held up to her face. I realized after squinting for a moment that it was a camera. She was taking pictures of the beautiful view before us.

I was about to get upset with her, but quickly brought myself back down, ashamed. I had made a conscious choice to never take pictures of the sunsets ever since I first started coming here. Even when everything was pastel, a calming beauty with soft pink clouds on a muted dark blue sky. Or when there were many different shades of purple, my all-time favorite color. Even when the sky burned with such a fiery passion that my heart leapt and I felt more alive. There was something beautiful in the fleeting moments. How the sky never once looked the same. It broke the sanctity of it all, somehow. I was afraid the magic would be lost when the moments were no longer completely unique; trapped in something as common as an everyday photograph.

Selfishness was another part of it, if I was being honest with myself. This area was mine. Those sunsets were mine. It was my one escape, and sharing it with another, or many others, was not something that I wanted.

Those feelings were petty and unnecessary. I knew that. And while I was mad at this stranger for breaking the spell for a moment, I was over it quickly.

Even in the dying light, I could make out a few key features of the stranger’s appearance. She wore a skirt and t-shirt, an odd choice for the weather. It wasn’t absurdly chilly, but not that warm either, and it was only going to get colder. That's as much as I could see of her attire from where I sat.

Although, I barely noticed what she was wearing. It was her hair that had caught my attention. Even in the slowly dimming light, I could see the striking color. It was blazing even more brilliantly than the sunset. In that moment, I forgot all about my previous view as this new one appeared before me.

She looked over at me and I froze, embarrassed to have been caught staring. To my surprise, she raised her arm high in the air and waved at me with an apparent joy. I had expected more of an embarrassed or uncomfortable response.

I tentatively raised my own hand in reply, smiling slightly. Not that she was close enough to see my expression. I had encountered few people during my evenings here, but no one had ever greeted or payed me any attention before. Much to my usual preference.

After my reply, she turned her gaze back towards the now nearly set sun. I watched as she brought the camera back up to her face before turning back towards my belongings that needed to be gathered up.

With a soft groan, I leaned back to grab my book bag and pulled it into my lap, stuffing everything into it without much care. Papers were shoved in the main pocket, the remainder of my dinner put in another, and various books weighed everything down by the time I finished. All that was left was my blanket. There was enough sun left to see the area directly in front of me, but that light was fading fast. Tossing my bag to the side, I started bundling the blanket up in my arms.

Different toads had begun to croak as I did so. The tone was deeper than before. I no longer found it as melodious, more annoyed by how loud they had gotten.

With the rolled up blanket tucked under my arm, I turned back towards the horizon. The sun was gone and the last remnants of deep orange were slipping farther down the sky. A crescent moon grew brighter as the surrounding sky became darker.

While the clouds with their crazy colors and the complimentary sky were absolutely breathtaking most nights, my favorite part, when I could stay for it, was when the stars started to emerge and there was just barely any light left above the horizon. These moments were the last few seconds separating the day from the night. I stood there until the sky was black and blue, the sunset fully capturing my attention once again, and the stranger was pushed to the back of my mind. The only light left illuminating the lake was given by the soft glow of the moon.

Having stood in place for so long, I finally turned around–and jumped. I guess I had been so distracted that I wasn’t aware of any changes in my surroundings.

Because there was the girl with the fiery hair, right in front of me.

“Hi!”

I froze, unsure what to do. Here was this beautiful girl, right in front of me.

The girl I was somewhat angry with for taking pictures of my sunset.

The girl I was somewhat in awe of; both from her beauty, and her abundance of joy.

“Wasn’t that sunset amazing?” she mused. Her voice rang out, a little jarring compared to the stilling quiet surrounding us. The toads had gone silent, but the crickets were only becoming fiercer. “I’m glad I happened to be walking by the lake this evening.”

“Yeah…” I said slowly. “You wandered into the right area. Not many other people have discovered this clearing. Not during sunset, at least.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

“And now the moon! I mean, look at the lake. It’s breathtaking.” The stranger spoke with such passion. She wasn’t holding anything back. It was admirable. She was barely even looking at me, enraptured with the sight she spoke of, flashing an enormous grin.

After hesitating for a moment, more gravitating towards the girl than the water she obviously wanted me to look at, I finally followed her gaze.

It was worth it.

The reflection of the setting was perfectly clear in the lake, the water having stilled as the evening turned into night. The tall pine trees behind us were included in it all. Somehow, they were at ideal heights so that the moon was perfectly framed between them, with some looming high on either side and the shorter ones just below it.

To say it was a breathtaking sight was no exaggeration. I gasped as I took in the view.

“I know, right?”

I tore my gaze away from the lake at the sound of her voice, and found myself staring at her once again. She stood right beside me now. I would guess that there were no more than a couple inches separating us in height, with her on the higher end.

She wore suspenders over a gray shirt, a black skirt, and orange sneakers that very nearly matched her hair. Now that I was up close, I could see small freckles sprinkled from one cheek to the other, across her nose and under her eyes. Upon closer inspection, I also found that her hair was naturally a bright orange and that she had dyed some lighter and darker streaks into it. All together it looked like a brilliant fire.

Or a sunset.

“Do you come here a lot?”

Startled, I shifted my eyes down slightly so that I was looking into hers. They’re darker than I expected. A deep brown. It was incredibly pretty.

“I only ask because you said not many people come here, so I assume you’re around often enough to know.” She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that I had been caught gaping at her more than once now. Either that, or she hadn’t noticed. She gave me a soft smile, but her eyes were shining bright.

“Almost every evening,” I started quietly. My voice slowly rose from a whisper as I grew more comfortable. “I happened to come across the clearing one evening, kind of like you just did. That was several months ago, though. Last Valentine’s Day. It felt so calm and nice that I thought to come back again the next evening. From there, it just became habit. I come as much as I can now.”

“Is the moon in the lake always this clear?”

I hesitated, glancing back at the water. I’d never really thought to look at the lake once night had come. The nights I did stay late enough, I was either focusing on the stars above me, or gathering my stuff and heading back home as quickly as possible. I felt no need to stay after the sun was finished setting. Embarrassed by this fact suddenly, I started off soft again.

“Actually, I don’t know. I come here for the sunsets, mainly. More often than not I leave before the sunset has disappeared so that I still have some light to guide my way back home. When I do stay, it’s to watch the stars come out.”

“Well, there’s no surprise there,” she said, “That sunset was rather spectacular. Although, I’m thinking of coming here for the moon and the sky’s reflection in the water. I’m putting together a photography series right now, and it fits the theme perfectly.”

“What about the pictures you took of the sunset?” I asked. Those, to me, seemed like they would be far more compelling for whatever project she has.

“The pictures I was taking of the sunset were for personal fun. The colors were mind-blowing! The thing is, I’m trying to develop a collection of photographs that fit a theme my teacher assigned. He thought it would be a great idea to assign themes and topics opposite of what each student usually frames their photos around. I’m sor-ry that I love color and contrast so much!” The stranger became more animated near the end, waving her hands around. The quiet we stood in seemed to be getting to her, though. She had begun to speak more softly, but never once lost her passion.

I blinked a few times as I watched her speak, not fully comprehending what she was talking about at first. She spoke so quickly that it took a moment for me to catch up. It was mildly inspiring how unapologetic she was to be ranting to a complete stranger about her personal life.

“Oh. I see.”

We stood there in what I presumed was awkward silence for a minute. Once again, she wasn’t fazed. She didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t have much to say in return, content with the silence.

I started again, “The colors really were mind-blowing. I’ve been coming here for months, and I’ve never seen the sunsets get so intense. They’re always beautiful. Rarely so… fierce.”

“I’m glad I got to share that with you, then,” she said, looking back out at the water once again. Even though that was supposedly a perfect shot for her project, I had yet to see her take a single picture.

Everything was so still.

The crickets were growing louder and louder.

“Although, I think I may actually like the view of the moon and pines more. It’s very tranquil.”

I had a feeling her life was the opposite of tranquil. She was too bubbly and outgoing for that. Maybe that was the appeal.

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. But maybe that’s just because your hair matched the sunset so perfectly.”

She gave me a little laugh in reply. We both sat down after a while and enjoyed the view in silence

The wind picked up again and I watched as the picturesque beauty of the lake dissipated, soft waves breaking the image. It was a more muted beauty now. Still pretty, not quite so perfect, but perfect was overrated.

With my long hair blowing into my face, I turned my gaze to the fiery stranger. To my surprise, I found her looking at me this time, a gentle smile on her expression.

“Do you want to see some of my photographs?”

“Sure!” I said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. We both laughed that time, more from feeling awkward on my end.

I leaned in closer as she pulled up the camera that had been hanging from her neck, glancing up to look at her face every once in awhile. The stranger spoke avidly and part of me simply enjoyed listening to her talk. Photograph after photograph showed up and disappeared once again as she explained each one. They were brilliant.

Her excitement and enthusiasm as she continued to talk and show me pictures was contagious. It slowly brought a smile to my face.

She lit something inside of me.

And everything was fire.

There is a future where you and I name our children after birds.

Robin, because your dad's name is Raven and mine is Robert, and it would pay homage to both,

And we may also be too invested in Batman and the Batfamily

(I'll be honest, it's mostly me).

Sparrow may also be a child of ours,

Named after the sibling of mine that was never born,

Lost to us too soon.

We feel they would've been a boy.

There is a future where we live together in a small, lively town in Oregon,

I'm writing, 

You're creating art, 

And together we run a bookstore.

There is a future where we go to live in Japan for a year,

To solidify my fluency in the language,

And open up more possibilities for the future.

There is a future in Southern California where

I'm on a writing team for a TV show,

And you're storyboarding for an animated show you've created.

But that vision is short-lived.

Whenever one of us brings it up, it's pushed to the back of our minds,

And you insist you'd hate to live in California, same as I,

But it's part of both of our dreams.

Why do we push that future away?

There is a future for both of us that is sure:

Where we are married and support each other 

In whichever future we each wish to pursue.

We'll take it one step at a time.