“Amy Peterson”- A very short story.

Amy Peterson let me cheat on our senior math tests, never once was I caught peeking over her shoulder.

“Only on tests.” her soft voice would say. Though, she was notorious for giving into my argument of “forgetting” to do my homework.

Amy Peterson was my best friend. She was more than the smart girl who had enough pity for me to cheat off of her math tests.

Amy Peterson was the head of pastel pink hair that smelled like roses. She was her smile when she spoke, she was the laugh that I fell in love with. Amy Peterson was more than beautiful.

After High School graduation, Amy and I attended the same college. We were still great friends. It was hard not telling her about my admiration, especially when we stood close.

Her and I would always get together on Friday nights, sharing new music that we have been listening to, and I loved every song.

It was a Friday night when we laid in my old bed, in my old room, in my old house. It was the Friday night that I reached for her hand, and she rolled over to kiss me. When our eyes fluttered back open, her eyes were the greenest of green. Amy didn’t know what to say.

I brushed her hair away from her face, “I love you, Amy Peterson.” I whisper to her softly. Her eyes became glossy, she loved me too.

That Friday night was our first time.


The next morning, she woke up to make it to her first class. She woke me up just to tell me that she loves me, and she gave me our last kiss before swiping her car keys off of the bedside table, softly shutting the door behind her. I didn’t hear from her for days after that morning. She wasn’t home, her roommates had not seen her, and he professor claimed that she had skipped class. After three days of not knowing, I received one of the most painful phone calls of my life. It was Amy’s mother on the other end, and her voice shook.

Amy Peterson died a year ago today, I write this laying flowers on her grave.

I loved Amy Peterson, forever and always.


Table For One


I was going to catch up with an old friend of mine at a local coffee hop, but he would be too late. I needed someone to talk to, but I ate alone.

After crying in the bathroom stall in the back of the cafe, I sat back down at my table for one to stare blankly at the television across the room. I paid no attention to what football team was playing, I just needed somewhere to focus my eyes, because I felt like everyone was staring.

The once settling, dim lights blurred together, and the holiday music grew faint and less inviting. 

The waitress approached my table with a smile, I could tell she knew.

I was hoping that the tea would calm me down, but it only made me feel more alone. I shouldn’t be so upset about alone time, I have been thinking that it has been what I have been needing. 

I was hoping it would clear my head. It did, only to allow more thoughts to rush in. I began to think too deeply about things I didn’t want to be thinking about, so I ordered a coffee to go, shaking off the thoughts that sourced from my personal isolation. None of the strangers watched me leave, and I was thankful for that.

100% Cotton

The rain on my windshield created a glare from the traffic passing by me, practically blinding me. I didn’t care though, I sort of hoped it would.

It was 3am, I wasn’t sure where I was leaving to, I had no set destination-I never do. Usually, spontaneous trips result from my happiness, but this one was sparked by the first tear to roll down my cheek.

A cigarette trembled in my left hand, I bought my first pack that day. My right hand was on the wheel, but I wouldn’t say I had control of the car. I didn’t care.

My chest felt like it was clenching, I pretend that it was the smoke, rather than the way he made me feel.

All I could repeat in my thoughts was; “He’s done it again, He’s done it again.” I told myself it would be the last time, again.

“This is the last time you’ll see me doing this.” I say, packing up every belonging of mine that remained in his apartment.

He only stood in the doorway, watching me do so, his eyes begging for sympathy. For once in my life; I had no sympathy because, I knew he wasn’t capable of empathy.

Mind tricks, doing anything to keep control. If he wasn’t able to have me anymore, he wanted to make sure no one else would be able to.

Six months ago, he told me to trust him.

My best friend told me he was crazy.

Now she’s laying in the sheets I bought.

The Second Breakup Letter; Revised.



Please, understand that I love you so much that it has torn me apart multiple times, but never more than this. Please read this when you don’t have any ideas of “what actually happened”. Before you have the chance of manipulating me into staying with you.

You have done all that you can, and so have I. I appreciate that. We talked about unhealthiness an tried to “fix things”, I waited for it for a year.

We’re too different. I want what you want; happiness. Happiness with each other. It breaks my heart, but I think that before that happens, we should try and start to “fix” ourselves. I know that you don’t quite get my thinking, but think that you do. You find my ways idiotic but, I have to do some things for myself. You out of all people should understand.

Everything I have ever done or said, is completely real.

My love is real, or else tears wouldn’t be dripping on this page. I’m doing this for us. Know that this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Please take care of yourself. Let your mind be free. I love you, —. Make sure the next girl doesn’t find this in your top drawer.




Poetry allows myself to think in different perspectives as I evaluate the piece, and it allows me to reflect upon how the piece makes me feel. Any sort of art that can make me feel, is definitely a masterpiece to me.

The following poem was written by a close friend of mine, one of his many writings that I would love to share;

“105 The fresh start
105 Where I thought found my part
105 The brick kingdom
105 My first taste of freedom
105 My home away from home
105 When I discovered alone
105 The lovely taste of alcohol
105 When I began to bawl
105 When I almost ended everything
105 When I lost all serenity
105 When I stood up
105 When I put down the cup
105 When I still feel blue
105 But I grew “

105 is the authors room number, where he lives on base. What I think the author is trying to say is; His dorm is where he was first able to be independent, many miles away from home. The place where he feels comfortable, and at first looked forward to the luxury of not being bothered by parents and was able to forget about the memories he rather not be attached to back home.

The author was excited to be alone but then started to feel alone. 

He began drinking alcohol. My assumption is that he originally began drinking it for fun, but then began drinking to forget his lonesome feelings. His depression began to sink in, along with his knowing that he was suppressing his feelings by the usage. The troubles of the depression and suppression almost brought him to taking his own life, constantly thinking about it.

His depression still lingers, but he “stood up” and walked away from the alcohol, as if he woke up and realized what he was doing to himself was wrong.

He still feels depressed at times, but he learned from his experience.

The poem above made me feel nostalgic in an odd way, for even I know I am a suppressor. This made me feel upset, because I can relate to how he was feeling when he wrote this poem. Though, the poem also makes me feel enlightened at the end, he grew. It is truly a reminder that sadness comes in waves, but it can also benefit you in the end if you look at it in a perspective that will help you when it is all over. This is important.

Short, simple, amazing

More pieces by this author to come.

9/12/16; Screaming On Top Of Staircases

At the end of the staircase, I raise my voice at you. My fists are clenched from the frustration of your words, and my cheeks get hot from the tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. It was a full house  that night, everyone knew what we were becoming. The moment you opened the old screen door and stepped outside; I wanted to believe but, I knew that I should leave.

Only A Block Away


Moonrise Photography

Last night, I had another encounter of pretend intimacy with the neighbor boy. Though we are not in a relationship, we are not in love, neither of us seem to understand the situation we ignore ourselves in. He does not have feelings for me, I slightly see light in him; we are not in love.
I am so numb and emotionally drained, I do not have the brain capacity to evaluate what is between us, or to even consider it being something to think about in the first place.
The next morning is like many others with him. I wake up and quietly walk to my bathroom at 7:13am, I stare at the markings he left on my neck, a reminder of his lips that tore my skin apart. They sometimes make me nostalgic, wishing that the person in bed would stay for breakfast because I miss being in love.
Last night, he kissed me and said to me; “I love that smile.” I imagined myself asking him; “Then why don’t you stay?” , but it is only pretend. The marks that tore my skin apart do not bother me because, at least he is not doing the same to my emotions.

Perspective of Love

In my perspective; every person is put on Earth to live for something incredible, or do something incredible. 

I have a personal theory that my purpose to live  must be to love. Not particularly love another person romantically, but to love everything you find beautiful. 

I find Love to be a beyond incredible thing to live for, I feel like love is part of my purpose.

Love feels like an electric shock in your chest, a fast paced heart, and blushed cheeks. Smiles never change, you will always laugh. The first kiss makes your brainwaves trip, and it will feel that way within the next million kisses ahead of you. Your eyes make a special attachment to their eyes, and they’re gazing back at you. You are connected, you both understand.

Love feels like wet grass on your feet as you run through the woods; summer breeze hitting your face, and the wildflowers guide your path. The first hug after separation, the first hot chocolate you carry in the cold, watching the sun rise and sun set, this is what love feels like.

Love also feels too complex to comprehend. I believe that is highly possible, but I love the idea of love either way. You have to be prepared, yet let yourself be vulnerable. Sometimes, it can be a mess. Love works itself out, it’s just a matter of letting it happen and not letting anything make you fear it.

Love is worth the warmth it makes you feel, it’s worth the anxiety of a first date, it’s worth waking up next to someone, and love is worth the heartbreak. 

Taking A Fall


I miss the days
When I would roam
I miss the place
That I call home
Everything was different
Crunching of the multi colored leaves
Crashing of the waves of Lake Erie

I am now in an old place
One I swore I would never come back to
The leaves here are only brown ;
No yellow, orange and red
I do not roam anymore
There is nowhere new to go
The brisk air now hurts me
I would like to come home