Thank you for the Countless High School Essays
Ah, William Shakespeare. The unrivaled grandmaster of the English language. Or, as I like to call him, the original king of overrated.
Yeah, it is true that a lot of his works became a fundamental part of literary history, but come on – this man sure came up with a lot of tragedies. I mean, if he ever wrote a rom-com, it would likely conclude with everyone stabbing each other.
And the guy’s character name skills… “Romeo Montague” and “Juliet Capulet”? After hearing these names, you cannot tell me that he did not let toddlers play Scrabble. And “Othello”? Please, even his handkerchief was crying. Then his dramatic streak… who else could come up with “To be or not to be”? Whoever came up with this probably should find a new hobby – one that does not ruin life for everyone else in his play.
That being said, though, I have to thank him for all the timeless quotes he gave us that became the foundation of our modern life. “All the world’s a stage” – yeah, makes sense considering that his plays are pretty much reality tv shows. Well, whoopty doo, Shakespeare – thank you for drama, tragedy and countless high school essays.
Last Train to Forever
In the soft luminescence of the train compartment, the world outside blurred into streaks of twilight colors, you awoke to a sight that inexplicably seized your heart. Across from you, flanked by two stern-faced guards with holstered guns, sat a person whose eyes seemed to narrate a thousand untold stories. Despite the grimness of their situation, shackled and evidently on a journey back to face a dire fate, there was a captivating allure in their gaze, a silent scream for a life unlived.
Your eyes locked, and in that ethereal moment, time seemed to dissolve. You knew, with an inexplicable certainty, that the person before you was whom your soul had been searching for. And as your gazes intertwined, you felt the mutual recognition, a shared heartbeat in a world gone still.
In the quietude of that connection, your lives unfolded in a series of silent communications, transcending the spoken word. You imagined your first date, a clandestine meeting in a small, dimly lit café where the rest of the world faded into the background, and only the two of you existed. There were shy smiles and hesitant touches, the air charged with the electricity of newfound love, yet shadowed by the unspoken knowledge of its fleeting nature.
The train rattled on, a relentless reminder of the journey's end, but in your shared silence, you lived a lifetime. You envisioned stolen moments of passion, where every touch was imbued with the desperation and intensity of lovers condemned by fate. These moments were your rebellion, a defiance against the merciless tide of destiny.
In their eyes, you saw the life you could have had together. A small, sunlit home filled with laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet, days spent basking in the simplicity of love's comfort, and nights wrapped in the warm cocoon of each other's arms, safe from the world's harshness.
But the cruel reality crept back in as the train neared its destination. The armed guards shifted, a silent assertion of their control, and the future you had woven together unraveled thread by thread. You were powerless, a spectator to the unfolding tragedy, your heart shattering with the silent cries of what could have been.
In those final moments, as they were led away, your eyes met for one last time, a silent farewell. There were no words to capture the agony, no screams loud enough to echo the pain of your sundered souls. You were left with the bittersweet aftertaste of a love as profound as it was transient, a haunting melody of 'what if' lingering in the silence of the train's whistle.
Thus, you lived a lifetime in a single journey, a love story confined to the silent words and shared glances between two souls, briefly intertwined by fate's cruel hand, on a train bound for the end of everything.
Grit & Grace
You stand amid the ashes, beautiful in your rawness,
a phoenix cloaked in shadows,
dirt smeared across your cheeks like war paint.
Gritty resilience etched in every line of your face,
you are the embodiment of both storm and sanctuary.
You've danced with the flames, haven't you?
Let them lick at your scars, turning pain into power,
fear into fuel.
Each ember, a soft, fluffy touch
against the hardened layers you’ve worn like armor.
In the fire's embrace, you find purity—
a cleansing so profound,
it strips away the veneer of your past selves,
leaving only the essence of your being,
dark yet dazzling.
Set it alight, let the flames rise,
watch them consume the doubts,
the past whispers of 'never' and 'too much.'
In this conflagration, you are reborn,
not from the ashes, but from the blaze itself.
Beautiful, dirty, gritty, dark, fluffy—
you are all these things and none,
transformed by the inferno's kiss,
a testament to the power of fire
to cleanse, to change, to liberate.
Tranquility
In the quiet hours of dawn,
When the world is a soft whisper,
I find solace in the hue of the sky,
A canvas painted with the first light,
Gentle, soothing, infinite.
It's the color of the ocean's depths,
Where secrets and dreams intertwine,
A dance of waves under the sun's gaze,
A melody of tranquility,
Endless, embracing, eternal.
In the eyes of a newborn,
There's a glimpse of this shade,
A reflection of innocence and wonder,
A spark of the beginning,
Pure, hopeful, serene.
It's in the twilight,
When the day meets the night,
A moment of calm,
A bridge between two worlds,
Quiet, reflective, peaceful.
This color, it whispers of freedom,
Of a boundless sky and an open sea,
A journey without end,
A path of possibilities,
Tranquil, vast, liberating.
It's the color of my solace,
Of my dreams, of my quiet moments,
A shade that feels like a deep breath,
A color that holds the essence of peace,
Calm, cool, collected.
Winter’s Shy Light
Winter, you know, it’s got this kind of light.
It's not loud like summer, nor rich like fall, it's... different.
It's this shy light, peeking, barely there.
Like a dream you're trying to remember, but it slips away.
It's silver, kind of, like an old photo,
painting everything quiet and still.
And inside, right, there's this other light.
The kind that pools around an old lamp, all golden.
It's cozy, makes shadows dance slow on the walls,
like they got nowhere to be.
In that glow, everything feels like a memory,
whispering stories, warming your hands.
There's something about it being so rare,
makes you appreciate it more, you know?
You pay attention, 'cause it's not shouting, it's whispering.
Makes you look closer, listen harder.
In the heart of winter, light’s like a rare visitor,
leaves footprints in your mind.
It's this quiet, steady thing,
reminding you that even when it's cold,
there’s this little glow, just enough
to light your way.
Resilience Carved in Stone
What's to love about a mountain, you ask?
It's in the way it stands,
unwavering, ancient, a testament
to time itself.
It's in the way the dawn
kisses its peak,
bathing it in gold,
while shadows play along its vast expanse.
In its silent strength,
it whispers stories
of the ages,
of storms weathered and skies embraced.
Its slopes, a haven
for dreams and daring,
where eagles soar
and rivers begin their journey.
In its presence, we find
our own insignificance,
and yet, a connection
so profound it roots us to the earth.
To love a mountain
is to admire resilience,
to seek solace in its unchanging gaze,
finding peace in its immovable grace.
For in each ridge,
each crevice and peak,
lies a story of the earth,
an unspoken promise of endurance and time.
The Journey(part 1)
We were thrust together by the catalysts that had broken our hearts.
Our souls inked in sable from our brokenness.
Love came with a grip so tight that it blinded us from the truth,
that their love was no longer the soft petal of a tulip
nor the sunrise that greeted us every morning.
Instead, we were falling down a dark cliff as our bodies collided against every rock,
causing bruises and open wounds on the way down to reality.
The tower moment.
We were beaten up by people who temporarily cared for us.
We didn't see ourselves staring back as we stood up from the cold concrete and looked at
our reflection in the mirror
Instead, we saw each other for the first time,
a reflection our eyes did not recognize, but our souls knew all along.
A soft flame danced in the backdrop of our reflections
and a song that vibrated the thin mirror between us.
I looked at you as you looked at me,
light against dark,
Ying and Yang.
We had to crawl our way through the shadows of our souls and
become the flame that pulsated with each breath.
The darkest night had cascaded over us for a long time,
until we found the fire beneath the darkness and wielded it
with grace and courage.
Who knew that light could be created from pain and brokenness?
Canvas of Existence
they broke the mold when you arrived,
a breath in the universe, yet
unlike the stars or the void,
unlike anything that ever was.
you, a silhouette dancing on the canvas of existence,
a burst of wildflowers in a barren field,
a melody sung only once in the chorus of time.
you are not the echo or the
shadow or the sameness,
that the world so often regurgitates.
you are unprecedented,
the unfathomable,
the singular.
and in your wake,
the mold lies shattered,
a testament to your unique song,
an ode to the rhythm of your existence,
a tribute to you, who is like no other.