Two years ago, my life was unrecognizable from what it is now. And in many ways, I find myself equally as unrecognizable. When we started this magazine, I saw it as a way for me to keep be creative post graduation. I was working at a law firm in Tallahassee, living alone (sans the hundreds of gnats that kept floating up from my sink), and generally feeling alone. I craved something to love that was meaningfully mine, and that thing ended up being the pages of this magazine. Our first issue was just six pages, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. This issue alone is seven times that length, and it just keeps being cool. I am so happy to have this wonderful record of my friends and my stages of life, personal struggles, and beautiful triumphs, along with some very silly shits and giggles and ultimately pointless hot takes by yours truly. I am eternally grateful to Macy for co-parenting our beautiful brain-child together; I am in awe of her talent and endless creativity. And every issue, I am so proud to watch everything come together and say something far greater than I ever could alone. PGG FOREVER.
Meet Macy!
I feel like that Jonas Brothers song Year 3000 when they said “Everybody bought our seventh album, it had outsold Kelly Clarkson” when they were just playing music in a garage with their brothers. This is the twelfth issue of The Post Grad Gazette, and she is a whopping 44 pages long, compared to our 6-paged friends-forced-to-write first issue back in 2023. I wanted this magazine to be a creative outlet for myself when I wasn’t officially an Art Director yet. Side hustling my way into the creative department, the zine has now become a creative outlet for many of my friends and friends of friends, and it brings me so much joy seeing a new name on our contributors page each new issue. I am so proud of this thing Rachel and I have created. Our baby is finally out of the terrible twos, and even though I have an internal battle with myself trying to find the perfect cohesive layout for each contribution, it all always comes together in the end, and it has become so beautiful. PGG Forever
JUNE GUITAR - ALEX G
Honestly, almost all of Alex G’s work is fit for curating powerful gusts of audio whimsy, nostalgia, and the innocence of childhood. But now with June Guitar off of his recent LP, Headlights, it comes via professional big label studio recording rather than his usual lo-fi sound, perfect for those headphones or that speaker. The music video for this features friends frolicking in circles as Alex plays what has got to be this year’s catchiest accordion melody, (of which there are not a lot) so why not take a page out of their book and lose yourself in it?
Also Try: Afterlife- Alex G, Sarah (Bonus Track) - Alex G
AGUAS DE MARCO - ANTONIO CARLOS JOBIM
The quintessential bossa nova ballad. Though also fitting for a variety of sunny activities such as painting, cooking with homegrown ingredients, or gently paddling on a lake, “The Waters of March”, as referred to in English, are perfect to traverse for any time of year in which the sun is brightly involved. It’s also a good way to practice your Portuguese or to sing as a duet with a partner. If you don’t have one, don’t worry- you’ll be ready when the time comes.
Also Try: Tezeta - Mulatu Astatke, (Take Me To) Aruanda - Astrud Gilberto
WHEN WE MET - DANA AND ALDEN
You might recognize their faces from TikTok account @gucci_pineapple, but brothers Dana and Alden McWayne have turned towards a largely impressive initial career in music since 2021 and their infamous instrumental cover of “Bound 2.” Practitioners of an eclectic genre-agnostic sound with contemporary Jazz at its core, When We Met swims in a lovely steady bed of piano, saxophone, and snare drum that would feel as much at home with a bike ride or lazy river as much as a picnic.
Also Try: Dragonfly - Dana and Alden, Together - Misha Panfilov
5 YEARS TIME - NOAH AND THE WHALE
Made famous this year by a Terrific scene in James Gunn’s Superman this year, this now 7 year old song is finally finding its overdue larger audience as a perfect song for singing, head bobbing, foot tapping, and jamming along to its upbeat ukulele core, fun instrumentation, and catchy lyrics. Joyous enough for a dance, karaoke, or beachside fight, what better song to illustrate that beauty and kindness really is the real punk rock?
Remember those old iPod Nano ads from the late aughts, around 2008? This is one of the many great songs in those ads, which aired during that more innocent time when technology and social media were pure innovation, stylish and fun and most importantly: non-algorithmic and non-AI slopped into hell. We may not be able to bring all that back, but songs can make you time travel, and here is some of that sweet laid back indie pop to bring you back to those summers of pure music, emotion, and actually having color options for tech beyond just silver, dark blue, brown, white, and black.
Also Try: Young Folks - Peter Bjorn & John, Lust For Life - Girls, Go Outside - Cults
DATING YOUR HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH
by Rachel Williams
I recently started dating someone I had a crush on in high school. We never spoke (but used to occasionally like each other’s Instagram pictures), and I would make my friends go watch him skate at the local park. I was always too chicken to say anything, I mean I was 17!! Boys didn’t like me!!! Thankfully, the universe placed him back in my life a decade later, and it taught me that everything happens in due time. My dear friend Ali always says, “There is nothing you can say or do to scare away the right person,” and I believe the universe works the same way. There is nothing you can ever do to derail what was meant for you. My high school crush has now turned into my 27-year-old crush, who happens to also be my boyfriend. It’s so special sharing your world with someone who came from the same one, especially being from Mississippi and living in New York, having that base level of connection provides a comfort I didn’t realize I was missing. We’re doing long distance, which is a story for another day, but the airport has now become my happiest and also my saddest place to be. Here’s to going back to your roots, maybe a little too literally.
WHERE THE TREES CARRY ON
by Danny Diaz
There’s a place way down in Florida where the Palm trees carry on. Where the sun shines hot across the parking lot and the highways roll along.
There’s a bayou down in New Orleans, where the Cypress grows untamed. They’ve seen storms and bones, and the wars at home, and stand stoic all the same.
There’s a place blocks wide called Central Park where the Maples stand real tall. And though the buildings deter, it’s where the people prefer, to be among the red leaves of Fall.
And there’s a bloom every year in Washington that makes the city turn bright pink. But it’s not the Cherry Blossom’s tone, that makes the congressman’s bones turn hollow or make him cease to think.
There are streets down in Los Angeles where the Myrtles provide some shade. And when the protests roar, and tear gases soar, they stand quiet above the flames.
But there are forests out in Saskatchewan, where great elders fall ablaze. Yet when the ash coat cracks, the Black Spruce fights back to breathe through that which once was claimed.
And there’s an Aspen deep in Utah, older than anyone’s ever known. Pando- his name, his size- his fame, proves the wilds, time tested, will grow.
There was a tree down by my library I never bothered to learn its name it saw me read and grow, yet when I saw it go, I barely noticed the loss that came.
Now I see the trees out there by you and me, always watching with wise refrains. Now that I’m older now I do appreciate how a bit of wild yet still remains.
You see the lesson of trees that puts me at ease is how they’ll be there all the same. That as we come and go, we have this thing to know: we’re never far from whence we came.
POPCORN FOR DINNER
by Saviana de Moya
Going back to my roots for me usually means rewatching a movie from when I was little. While I don’t consider my childhood to be the most positive experience in the world, oddly enough, I always come back to the media I grew up with, the most.
If you asked me to list my top five favorite movies, at least three of them would be from my childhood. There’s just something super comforting about them. I know it’s not groundbreaking to say anxious people love to rewatch things, but for me, it’s the ultimate way of coming back to my roots.
Ages 5-7
Lilo & Stitch (2002)
For those days when you’re ready to cry watching Stitch destroy the beach in his Elvis costume.
Pirates of the Caribbean (2003) (2006) (2007)
Sometimes you just need to rewatch one of the best trilogies ever made.
Ages 8-11
Aquamarine (2006)
For all the girls who wanted to have a strand of hair dyed in a different color. The most feelgood beach movie ever, and the soundtrack does not get ENOUGH recognition.
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)
For when you need some comfort in other complex family situations.
Ages 12-14
Moonrise Kingdom (2012)
Suzy reading the “Coping with the very troubled child” book and running away from home with her records and cat is exactly what I felt at 13/14.
Harry Potter 3, 5, and 6 (2004) (2007) (2009)
These three specifically have that cozy teenage vibe that just hits more than the others.
Little Savi
TO THE GIRL WITH CLAIRE’S EARRINGS AND A DREAM
What I’d Tell My 13-Year-Old Self
by Kiley Parrish
There’s something special about being 13. You’re just confident enough to wear neon leggings, convinced Justin Bieber is the only person who matters, and dreaming of being married by 22. The only thing that still rings true? Bieber Fever is alive and well at 25.
Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing, but if I could slip little me a note, it’d go something like this:
1. You will survive the side part vs. middle part debate.
2. Listen to Mom more than you think you should.
3. Never get rid of your Vera Bradley — it’ll be “vintage” and cool again.
4. You will never use the Pythagorean Theorem, but you will wish you knew how to set boundaries early.
5. Don’t stress about finding the “right” friend group. Your people will find you.
6. Stop straightening your hair like it owes you money. Let the natural curls breathe.
7. Wear. Your. Retainer.
8. If I’m being real, start saving for your 401k now (ask Dad what that means).
9. Take advantage of napping in the middle of the day.
10. Everyone’s still a little awkward - they just get better at hiding it.
11. Tell Dad to invest in AI. Just trust me.
12. Savor every moment of One Direction. Let’s just say… things evolve.
13. You never figure out how to do makeup, so save the allowance and buy some candy.
14. Resist the urge to download an app called TikTok.
15. Keep a journal, even if it feels embarrassing. It’s where your future self’s stories live.
IN DEFENSE OF ANIMATION
Iremember going to the theaters to watch How to Train Your Dragon in 2008. I was engrossed in the world and story, so much so that on the drive home, my best friend and I pretended her dad’s Prius was a dragon we were flying home on. Despite being a 2D animation truther, How to Train Your Dragon remains one of my favorite childhood movies; it holds up in its beautiful animated sequencing and impressive and evocative score. So imagine my shock and horror when I realized
by Rachel Loring
the uncanny, dull, lifeless liveaction recreation of Hiccup and Toothless’ hand-to-nose-bondingscene wasn’t some AI goobity guck, but a real-life still from a real-life live-action remake of my beloved 2008 classic. And to be honest, after almost ten years of me raging against the live-action remake machine, this was finally the straw that broke the camel’s back for me.
My love for animation started young. So young that I barely even remember a time when I wasn’t
watching cartoons. I’ve always been a genuine monster in the morning, even more so as a child, so when my mom used to wake me up, she’d prop me up in front of PBS kids cartoons (always Arthur before school), so I wasn’t as evil about being woken up. This love only continued. Before my family got cable, my brother and I would go to our neighbor’s house to watch Saturday morning cartoons every week. Once we got our own cable, it was OVER. We had to petition our mom to move our bedtime back 30 minutes so we
could finish Cartoon Network’s “late night” Thursday programming. My love for animation was more than just cartoons; I loved animated movies. Classic Disney animated films were a goldmine for me of aesthetic, beauty, and design. I loved the medieval stylings in Sleeping Beauty and how different and distinct it was from the 80s Renaissance films. I loved how animators at Disney used actual blush when drawing Snow White to get her apple-red cheeks. I loved stop-motion animation. I loved how Wes Anderson used cotton in Fantastic Mr. Fox to replicate smoke. I loved watching behind the scenes of Laika claymation productions, and all the little puppets and sets you could just walk through. I was obsessed with the work of animation, the hundreds of thousands of hours for stop motion, the hundreds of hand-painted cels in 2D animation, and even some of the early 3D animated work when the medium was becoming what we know today (Sully’s fur animation from Monsters Inc., I see you). Most of all, I valued animation for what it was: a mode to tell a story.
should stay in the conversation.”
I do too, Guillermo.
When we talk about live-action, when we make ten billion posts about who should be cast as XYZ in the live-action remake of some 2023 Disney movie, we are really just saying that animation is inferior. We are overlooking its legitimacy to tell stories effectively.
character? And don’t get me started on casting the same actors from the animated ones to reprise their roles—at that point WHAT are we even remaking???
I think this inability to tolerate animation, this need for audiences and the culture at large to see things as realistically as possible, is genuinely concerning. Why are we so anti-art?
My love for animation started young. So young that I barely even remember a time when I wasn’t watching cartoons.
I’ve always wondered: why do you need to see real people doing something when you could see it 1) looking better, 2) being stylized, and 3) without needing to suspend your disbelief at the ungodly CGI-ism. Add to that the fact that most liveaction remakes are just shot-forshot remakes. So, not only are they not even adding anything in, they are literally the inferior version of the films. You can see it with your own eyes: the colors are always dull, the CGI-ified cute Disney animal sidekicks are horrifying soulless monsters, and they are completely devoid of life and heart. The funny this is, they are limited by the very fact of their inherent realism.
Sadly, I don’t have an answer to that. I could point to the rise of conservatism, anti-intellectualism, fascism, etc. But I think it mostly comes down to capitalism, and until these remakes stop making money, no studio is going to stop making them.
It saddens me from an artistic standpoint and from a personal standpoint as someone whose life was shaped by animated stories and characters. And, it ruins my pipe dream that is a Beatles animated biopic (no one needs to see whatever nightmare Barry Keoghan-Ringo will be). And since I don’t have a real conclusion, instead I’m going to leave with my top 10 animated movies/shows, because I think when given a chance, animation speaks for itself.
(in no particular order)
At its best, animation is misunderstood. But at its worst, animation is discarded. This is a growing sentiment I’ve been seeing since the disgusting, soulless cashgrab live-action remake trend Disney started in 2015 and had already overused by 2016. Guillermo del Toro said it better than I can: “Animation is not a genre for kids. It’s a medium for art, it’s a medium for film, and I think animation
Animation is the only medium where, by its nature, anything is possible.
You can get lost in the world because it’s not our world, it’s one where there are dragons and mermaids and magic. Why do we want to see (insert Gen Z actor) as (insert Disney character) when you could just see the character as the
Gravity Falls
This is my comfort summer watch. It’s a perfect example of a kids’ cartoon that holds up for adults, too. It’s also really funny. I still reference this show to this day. Plus, the animation is legitimately cute, and the character work and overarching mystery are extremely well done. It’s (tragically) only two seasons, but it’s a quick watch!
Over the Garden Wall
I promise these aren’t all seasonal, but this is the end-all be-all fall/ autumn watch. This is a 10-episode mini series that has some of the best recent 2D animation. In fact, there’s one sequence where it even pays homage to old rotoscope animation and the effect is jarring and sick to see. Again, extremely quotable, cute, and genuinely scary. I always have to look away when we finally get a glimpse of the Beast.
Adventure Time
No Cartoon Network kid alum is going to not mention Adventure Time when talking about their top animated media. It is the case study show for growing with an audience, with the episodes and seasons becoming more layered, serious, and deep as it progresses. The animation is also the perfect amount of trippy, and the character designs still floor me with their originality. And, of course, it’s hilarious, just watch one of the billions of clip compilations on TikTok.
Fantastic
Mr. Fox
I love stop motion animation so much. It’s really hard to just pick one, but since I already jammed up this list with cartoons, I’m trying to whittle it down. Fantastic Mr.Fox feels fresh. The stop-motion is perfect. If Wes Anderson can do anything well, it’s stylization, and this shines in an animated medium. Plus, the actual techniques used are extremely impressive. Fun fact, Wes recorded all the dialogue with the actors in real time, making them act out what their animated counterparts are doing to get a super realistic take. There are also really funny behind-the-scenes of this.
Bojack Horseman
The case study of how to create an actually meaningful adult animated series. This one takes time to develop, but when it does… it’s just too much, man. Another extremely funny show (its abortion episode is top tier) with extremely on-the-nose and timely critiques of Hollywood, actors, and society. The characters all have spectacular arcs, and some of the more experimental episodes are phenomenal. I’m talking episodes with no dialogue and episodes with only dialogue being some of the standouts, as well as episodes that play with nonlinear structure to explore childhood and familial cycles of trauma.
The Wild Robot
Listen…I don’t think I’ve ever cried the way I cried watching this movie. We’re talking full sobs and having to pause because I physically couldn’t breathe from the sobs. As stated before, I am a 2D animation truther, but this was some spectacular 3D animation, simply beautiful.
Kiki’s Delivery Service
I think an underrated Ghibli movie. This was my favorite growing up because it was slow, calm, and was one of the only Ghibli movies that didn’t scare me (it’s freaky when her parents turn to pigs in Spirited Away, okay!). This one is a great rewatch, and as an adult who has had to leave home, work, and deal with burnout and loneliness, it speaks to me even more now. Plus, that little fish cake thing she delivers looks simply delicious.
Ratatouille
I’ll say it: Pixar’s magnum opus. It’s my favorite kind of movie: not exactly plot-centered. It’s a character study if anything. It’s always between this
and the Incredibles for me when it comes to top Pixar movies. They feel genuinely grown-up, exploring themes of dissatisfaction, ability, and societal limitations. And the soundtrack is top-notch.
Sleeping Beauty
Really, all the classic Disney films scratch my “beautiful animation” itch, but Sleeping Beauty is next level. The style is so hyper-specific to its story and place, whereas basically any Disney movie of the last five years is indistinguishable from another (looking at you, Tangled, Frozen, and Wish). The music is divine, the villain is legit scary, and again, the ART STYLE is unmatched. It makes me miss old Disney so much.
Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio Okay, maybe this is just because he provided me with that super awesome quote earlier, BUT this is how you remake a classic. Del Toro’s Pinocchio is dark, exploring themes of war, death, and religion, but also filled with whimsy and heart. This movie proves his thesis: animation is a mode for storytelling. Plus, Cate Blanchett literally plays a monkey and just makes monkey noises the entire time it’s sick.
And shout-out to the only good Disney live-action remake, Cinderella (2015), you were a real one.
by Rachel Loring
Magnolia Rachel Williams Oil on canvas
Ode to the Dirt Cup
by Olivia deMontmorency
A hot August day in two thousand nine, You’re hungry, you’re sweaty, and you can’t help but whine.
Mom calls you inside, “It’s time for a snack!” You slowly rise and race your brother back.
There on the counter, a garden so neat, With pudding for soil and worms you can eat.
Oreos crumble in a chocolatey pile, Gummy worms wriggle, flashing me a smile.
Who needs the yard or digging in dirt, When spoonfuls of joy don’t ruin your shirt.
My dirt cup delight, no grass, no grime, Just chocolate bliss in the summertime.
HOW TO MAKE A DIRT CUP
Ingredients:
1 Box Instant Chocolate Pudding Mix
2 Cups Cold Milk
1 Cup Whipped Topping (optional for extra fluff)
Crushed Oreos (about 10–12 cookies)
Gummy worms
Clear plastic cups or small bowls
Instructions:
1. In a bowl, whisk pudding mix with milk until thick (about 2 minutes).
2. Fold in whipped topping if using.
3. Spoon pudding into cups, layering with crushed Oreos.
4. Top with more cookie “dirt” and a few gummy worms.
5. Chill in the fridge for 30 minutes (or as long as you can wait).
The Girls Who Lived On Our Bookshelves
by Kiley Parrish
Let’s Find Out Which Fictional Girl Made You Who You Are (for Better or Worse)
1. What got you in the most trouble growing up?
A. Interrupting adults to tell your version of events
B. Going through your mom’s purse “just to see what was in there”
C. Dramatically fake-fainting because no one appreciated your drawing
D. Wandering off “just to see something”
E. Explaining to a babysitter that you actually know how to do CPR and don’t need supervision
4. Choose your core childhood item:
A. A backpack filled with random crap and one crushed Fruit Roll-Up
B. A trench coat, a flashlight, and three conspiracy theories
C. A purse with seven lip glosses, a plastic tiara, and a laminated French menu
D. A flip phone that didn’t work, but you pretended it did
E. A notebook titled “Revenge Plans and Vocabulary Words”
Mostly A’s
You’re the loudest one in the room with a heart of gold— unfiltered, fearless, and always ready to speak your truth, even if it gets you in trouble.
You were raised by Junie B. Jones
2. How would your childhood best friend describe you?
A. Feral but endearing. Might’ve bit someone once
B. Knows everyone’s secrets, and no one knows hers
C. Probably wore a tiara to bed
D. Somehow always holding a croissant and an opinion
E. Spoke like a 40-year-old librarian who’d seen too much
5. What’s your go-to meltdown move when life’s too much?
A. Yell something confusing, then deny you were upset at all
B. Spiral down a Google rabbit hole until 3 a.m.
C. Throw on your fanciest outfit and declare you’re done with everyone
D. Walk away dramatically, but text a full apology an hour later
E. Retreat into a book fortress and ignore all human contact indefinitely
3. Pick your ultimate after-school activity:
A. Playing school, but you’re the teacher and the principal
B. Solving fake mysteries with real suspicion
C. Putting on a fashion show for your stuffed animals
D. Making a fake café in your living room and assigning roles
E. Reading in absolute silence, ideally under a blanket
6. What would tiny you be most proud of now?
A. You still speak your mind
B. You’re observant and clever
C. You haven’t stopped dressing up for no reason
D. You figured out how to be chaotic and beloved
E. Your strong opinions show how much you care, and they make a difference
Quietly observing everything and piecing it all together like a detective, you notice what others miss and always have a plan. You’re the friend everyone trusts with their secrets.
You were raised by Nancy Drew
Extra is your middle name, and you sparkle even on a Monday morning. You bring glamour and magic wherever you go because life’s too short for boring outfits or bland moments.
You were raised by Fancy Nancy
Mostly B’s Mostly C’s Mostly D’s Mostly E’s
You’re the queen of controlled chaos with city-girl confidence, owning every room like it’s your personal stage. Independent, dramatic, and endlessly lovable, you make your own rules and live loud.
You were raised by Eloise
Brains, heart, and a secret little rebellious streak. You quietly change the game while everyone else underestimates you. You’re proof that strength often comes wrapped in silence and books.
You were raised by Matilda
Aco-worker recently told me that her daughter, around six, insisted on dressing herself. “How fun!” I remarked, as she showed me pictures of her daughter walking proudly down the New York streets in striped tights and bright shoes and a patterned, sherbertcolored top. I was inspired by both the child’s unedited creativity and her mother’s protectiveness over it.
I am unsure of the exact moment that we lose that skill—the ability to nourish the pure imagination that grows wild at a young age, a time before convention dulls the flicker of a truly fun style. When are we expected to no longer wear princess dresses and tiaras to the grocery store? At what point do our socks require matching?
People with style that I admire (unique, whimsical, and, at times, chaotic) share many wardrobe attributes with a child’s. They wear patterns with reckless abandon. Their color schemes are unorthodox. And their clothing billows and layers in ways that most people would describe as “unflattering.” Ah, the beauty of it.
I haven’t spent a lot of time with kids, but it strikes me that feeling insecure in our own skin is a uniquely adult ailment. It follows that what makes juvenile style so good is its function outside the realm of expectation—the expectation to hide our flaws and highlight our attributes; the expectation to follow certain rules and behave a certain way. It also (perhaps) follows that we might find more joy in dressing when we revert back to our old ways, before the conventions dulled the joy of dressing.
FROM A FASHION PERSPECTIVE:
by Ali Donovan
DO WE PEAK AT AGE FIVE?
by Vanessa Weeden
Cutouts from a home video of me playing hopscotch at my childhood home.
My mom’s behind the camera laughing while I scream “Want me to do that again?!” “Yeah!” My mom says. “Ok! Ok... START!” I say as I go back to the first square, rock in hand, ready to play again.
Layered over 35mm film photos I took of the roads in my hometown (Brodhead, WI).
My cat, Stanley, is laying around lazily watching me play (this is before he ended up with 3 legs).
SHITS & GIGGLES
mud pie menu
by Rachel Loring
Classic Mud Pie $2
The pie that started it all, dirt from your childhood front yard mixed with water straight from the hose. Topped with grass pulled straight from the root and gravel bits to taste. Served with a skinned knee and Gatoradestained mouth.
Fairy Princess Mud Pie $3
Did you also believe you were a fairy in first grade? This mud was dug out from under your mom’s flower beds and mixed with moldy, collected rainwater. Topped with our signature flower petal mix and magic pixie dust (nonedible glitter).
Harvest Mud Pie $4.99
Classic mud-tap water mix with hundreds of acorns added to the batter. Add in a floating band-aid from the hand-mixing process and some random twigs found outside.
Mud Pudding $1.50
…you added too much hose water, didn’t you?
Sun-dried Mud Pie $4
…you left it outside for five days and forgot about it, didn’t you?
Dark Chocolate Mud Pie $10
Finished while your mom screamed at you to come inside already because the sun was going down and dinner was ready. How could she not see you were the true chef of the evening?
Evil Witch Mud Pie $20
Mixed with Signature witch potion: half a bottle of shampoo and glitter body spray from Claire’s, stirred with a wand (stick found in yard) and blessed with a reading of the elder’s ancient scrolls (various One Direction and Harry Potter fanfics).
YOU WERE A LOVE LETTER SENT TO MY INNER CHILD
by Melanie Blatt
my brain was loud, but you were louder. an explosion of confetti and popcorn and music.
it was never normal. from the moment we met, every minute that passed felt like being transported to an alternative reality. it was weird and ugly and dirty and beautiful beyond imagination. nothing mattered but our pocket of existence.
storms were spent dancing in the rain or cuddled up next to each other at the open door. watching the torrent from the safety of our door frame. our arms around each other, your green eyes staring back at me, our tea cups full.
the first thing you saw when walking in our apartment was our table, which had a framed picture with the caption “family” looking at it made me smile. the stock picture lived there for a while; a comedy that pointed to our laissez-faire life, but quietly and thoughtfully the picture became us….And a picture of Timmy the spider.
it made me feel loved in a way i had never experienced. i felt seen. this house of love was loud and magic-filled every moment.
there was darkness here too; spells of anxiety, trauma, sadness, and anger and it was messy.
but i wouldn’t trade anything for the moment you locked us in a bathroom and made us listen to harry styles. I wouldn’t trade anything for you because you were the best thing that’s happened to me.
THE PARTY’S JUST BEGUN
songs from my first boombox
THE PARTY’S JUST BEGUN
The Cheetah Girls
ROCK STAR
Hannah Montana
MIRACLES HAPPEN
Myra
JUMP TO THE RHYTHM
Jordan Pruitt
BURNIN’ UP
Jonas Brothers
ULTIMATE
Lindsay Lohan
PUSH IT TO THE LIMIT
Corbin Bleu
WHY NOT
Hilary Duff
STRUT
The Cheetah Girls
LIKE WHOA
Aly & AJ
Be trapped in an elevator with your clone, who thinks that YOU’RE the clone
Be able to press pause on time and have a Saturday morning like you were ten again
Give up sauce
Be invited to a dinner party where no one acknowledges that you’re there
Have your adult friends all agree to play manhunt in the park with you
Have a purse that produces the perfect snack for every occasion
Accidentally like a post from two years ago while Instagram stalking
Sleep through an entire meeting
Turn into a worm, but your partner doesn’t want to carry you around everywhere in their pocket
Be trapped in an elevator with five extremely talkative conspiracy theorists
Have a magic remote that lets you relive any one moment from your childhood
Give up kissing
Be invited to a dinner party but the host reveals that you’ll be eating their arm
Do a Lisa Frank-style arts and crafts day with glitter, markers, and no phones
Have shoes that teleport you home the moment your social battery dies
Have your mom read your texts over your shoulder for an entire day
Be constantly farting during a meeting
Turn into a worm, but your partner starts a worm TikTok account and calls you “my little content machine”
SONNET 8: OF PEACHES AND OSPRAYS
by Alex O’Brien
You danced alone, all golden limb and grace. I stood there half-dumb, barefoot in the foam. The world went soft—just wind and open space— and you, the only thing that felt like home.
July, I tried too hard to play it cool. Cracked a beer and called the riptide a joke. You kissed my cheek and said I seemed a fool— “Boys think they’re fire, but really, they’re smoke.”
The fields went gold, then brittle at the seams. Thick air turned sweet with fruit that fell too fast. Sturgeon moon burned low above our fleeting dreams— the kind of light that isn’t meant to last.
September came; I swore I’d let you go— But still recall your heat, your hush, your glow.
photography by Macy Kissel
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
The Big Bang of movies, the intersection of classic cinema and modern cinema. The definitive visual and non-CGI sensory experience. The summation of everything that came before and the catalyst for everything that would come after. And it all began with Kubrick’s simple desire to make “a proverbial good science fiction movie.” Not only did he surpass his goal, he accomplished the greatest cinematic achievement to date. He proved movies can communicate deeply philosophical and important ideas, and its meaning is still being analyzed today. Not to mention, it was so ahead of its time that conspiracy theorists still surmise that it was actually an R&D endeavor for faking the Apollo 11 moon landing (shoutout fellow Purdue Engineering graduate Neil Armstrong). It’s a movie that transcends filmmaking, art, and the collective
Snow White (1937)
There was a time when it was strange to consider cartoons as a feature-length engagement. They were exclusively for children and shorts that would be appended ahead of the main feature presentations. Walt Disney risked his entire reputation and fortune on bringing animation to a feature-length status. As a result, he created a storytelling empire that still stands strong today. Not to mention, the single-cell animation of Snow White still looks beautiful and awe-inspiring. A new portal of cinematic expression was opened, and it has been flowing ever since.
Vertigo (1958)
An obsessive psychological thriller with beautiful Technicolor and effects. Hitchcock’s opus defined an era of classic Hollywood and explored storytelling from the mind’s eye. Suspense, paranoia, lust, noir, an iconic Saul Bass poster, and not to mention, it invented the Dolly Zoom, which Spielberg would go on to patent as one of the most iconic camera tricks available in the medium. It’s got it all. Hitchcock inspired countless filmmakers, most notably the pioneers of the French New Wave, who would ultimately go on to reinvent what the construction of motion picture images could accomplish. Quick tidbit: Vertigo was playing at the bar when my girlfriend
MOVIE ROOTS
by Paul Laurora
When it comes to storytelling, all ideas can from branches from some tree that was planted Filmmaking has only been around for about new. What follows is not a ranked list but more a visual language, and the filmmakers who are now the roots that all cinematic grammar is not a list capturing purely technical achievements Oz, Jurassic Park) or inventive classics (i.e. Moon, Un Chien Andalou). And of course, this list but are
Meshes of the Afternoon (1943)
This short demonstrates the true power of unlimited imagination. A story crafted in a way that only movies can achieve. While the world was at war, Maya Deren turned to her film camera. She built on the early films of Louis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí and pushed filmmaking passed a previously unknown boundary. It opened a new cinematic portal for filmmaking and paved the way for later experimental/ art house classics like Eraserhead, Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome, and Pink Narcissus, and the Roger Corman B-movie & exploitation films that would boom
Seven
Samurai (1954)
The most epic of all epics, an unbelievably massive scope, with an equally sprawling and beautiful story. It established tropes and narrative techniques that have been duplicated and copied nonstop. Its influence is most notably seen in the legendary Spaghetti Westerns of Sergio Leone, and the cultural phenomenon, Star Wars. You could follow a branch that leads directly from Kurosawa’s unbelievable body of work to what ultimately became the franchising, cinematic universeobsessed, merchandising, and marketing machine of modern-day Hollywood. All of that sprouted from a simple pan of a swordwielding Toshirō Mifune
MOVIE ROOTS
Laurora
can be traced back somewhere. Branches planted long before our species developed. about 130 years, so the roots are still relatively more so an exploration of filmmaking as who planted the seeds of the medium, which grammar is built upon. I want to note that this achievements (i.e. Jazz Singer, Wizard of (i.e. Lumière Bros Productions, Trip to the there are several films that should be on are not. Enjoy!
Citizen Kane (1941)
There’s a reason every aspiring filmmaker feels the necessity to create 6. The greatest movie ever made before they turn 25. It’s because that’s exactly what Orson Welles did.
(Disclaimer: It is in the opinion of this humble narrator that this is not the greatest film ever made, but from a cinematic history POV, it probably is.)
Even Orson Welles himself stated in F is for Fake, “[I] began at the top and have been working my way down ever since.” Even if you have never seen the movie, its DNA is present in every film that has been made since. The deep focus, the yearning for the Rosebud, the non-linear structure, and as Scorsese loves to mention, “the first film to put a ceiling on a set.” Any movie lover owes a debt to Charles Foster Kane.
Rome, Open City (1945)
Metropolis (1927)
I believe this is the first masterpiece of filmmaking. Right before the industry transitioned to talkies, Fritz Lang took the full arsenal of visual storytelling and surpassed the limits of technical possibility. I can’t imagine what someone 100 years ago thought when they witnessed this. It must have felt alien. A breathtaking accomplishment of style, vision, and technique. It will continue to hold the test of time, and its prescience of how our world would change feels more omniscient as the years go on. This perfectly captures the Kubrick quote, “If it can be written or thought, it can be filmed.” And Metropolis proved this to be true about 40 years before Kubrick said it.
How do you move on from a fascist regime? Is it possible to capture the societal and cultural impacts of the Roman Empire, Christianity, political revolutions, and centuries of war in less than 2 hours? One of the early cornerstones of Italian Neorealism and one of the most effective emotional narratives in all of cinematic history. A combination of news-reel style filmmaking with intimate and realistic storytelling. A film that proved everyone has a powerful story to tell. The concept of using film as a means to tell personal and unique stories would directly influence filmmakers around the world, like Satyajit Ray and independent cinema pioneer John Cassavetes (who would go on to inspire the New Hollywood movement, and he also single-handedly sparked Scorsese to make Mean Streets). This branch led all the way to the independent film renaissance of the late 80s/90s and is still felt today; just look at our most recent Best Picture winner.
Paris is Burning (1990)
Documentaries have the power to open windows we have never seen, never understood, or have chosen to intentionally avoid and chastise as a society. The movie camera has the power to peer into beautiful worlds and have them heard and felt with remarkable impact. At the end of the day, the goal of any story is to elicit an emotional response while creating empathy. This film proved that the true holy grail of stories lies within the real world, the real stories of those around us, and the people/communities that form the cornerstones of our collective culture.
I know I said I wasn’t gonna do purely technical achievements, however, considering this is the movie that invented fast/ slow/stop motion, freeze frames, Dutch angles, jump cuts, multiple exposures etc… then this is genuinely the Rosetta Stone of filmmaking. It taught the world how to translate the emotions and ideas we have into impactful images. It is the dictionary of cinematic language. It borrowed from the early Soviet montage trailblazers like Sergei Eisenstein and pushed the film camera to territories never experienced. It linked the inventive pursuits of early filmmaking endeavors to the narrative artistic industry we know today. I think there is some poetic irony that this movie premiered just a couple months prior to the first Academy Awards.
Man with a Movie Camera (1929)
We don’t talk much, my dad and I. On the mountain, you don’t have to. Your boots do it for you, trudging and trekking, abbreviated with the staccato of hiking sticks and twigs breaking underfoot.
We don’t need to talk up there; sometimes we just stand and stare. The sky is blue and the trees look small and still, so we don’t talk much. Sometimes I look at him when he looks out, and I wonder what he thinks.
We don’t have to talk much out here. It is enough to stand and look at something beautiful together.
When we do talk, it follows no path, no trail. It’s pass me the beef jerky and you take the lead. It’s when did you know you were in love with Mom? and what was your favorite birthday in your whole life?
We don’t talk much, my dad and I. We walk, he leads, and I follow. I place my feet where he does, thinking it’s too on the nose, me following in his footsteps. I hold his hiking sticks when he needs me to. I spend as much time looking at his back, at his worn-in Jansport, as I do looking at the cliff’s edge and the lake’s shore. And I think that I am very lucky sometimes that we don’t have to talk much, my dad and I.
THE SUMMER I GOT DIAGNOSED WITH BIPOLAR 2
by Rachel Williams
First, let’s go back to the year 2015. I’m sitting in my room scrolling through Tumblr tags, depression, bipolar, mental health, etc., as you do when you’re recently 17 and don’t know what’s wrong with you. I convinced myself that I had every single mental illness in the DSM. You might laugh and dismiss this all as teenage hormones, plenty of people did when I was begging for help.
Ten years later, and I still feel like that lost little girl trying to put the puzzle together of what’s wrong with my brain. I restarted meds in March after a really terrible depressive episode in February. I tried 17 different variations of SSRIs in 2019, and since they didn’t work, my doctor and I decided to try SNRIs. The placebo effect is very real, and combined with everyone telling me how much of a relief medication was for them, I gaslit myself into believing it was working. But what I was really experiencing was exacerbated hypomania and depression.
At the time, though, I had no idea what hypomania was. I had brought up the possibility of Bipolar Disorder with my therapist a few months prior, and she told me that I was not experiencing mania, so I put the thought out of my mind.
That was until I had an impulsive meeting with my psychiatrist at 8:15 pm on the Friday night of my birthday weekend.
After a two-martini dinner, I told my doctor something was very wrong. The meds weren’t working the way I wanted them to; if anything, I was doing worse than I had been when I started them back in March. She mentioned Bipolar 2, and explained to me what hypomania was, a less intense form of mania that can often go undetected. I needed to process the information, but the more research I did, the more I was convinced and validated that this is what was happening in my brain. I couldn’t sleep at night because my thoughts were racing after learning about hypomania, and I needed to do something about this revelation. Thankfully, I also had a therapy appointment scheduled with the same therapist I’ve been seeing for four years, and after going through all of my symptoms, we officially changed my diagnosis to Bipolar 2.
I’m now in the process of tapering off my SNRIs and starting mood stabilizers. It’s a long journey ahead, but I could not be happier or more relieved to have the puzzle pieces together, or at least know what the puzzle looks like.
Looking back at my life, I can give myself grace knowing that what I was experiencing was all part of an untreated mental illness. Everything has started to make sense. I understand the way my brain works for the first time in my life. I’ve never felt so seen by anyone, including myself, until now.
It makes me emotional to realize all the pressure I had been putting on myself wasn’t my own fault. The pressure I feel doing simple tasks, like going to a grocery store, is the same pressure that some people feel when giving an important work presentation: constant dread or working in overdrive. Or both. The sobbing before planned social events that I was so excited about a week ago. Not being able to plan or enjoy vacations, commit to social plans, or book a yoga class because I have no idea how I’m going to be feeling. Judging myself for not being in control of my emotions. Feeling euphoric and wearing myself down so hard that I crash. I felt so validated and emotional learning that all of the symptoms connected to Bipolar 2 not only resonated with me, but were the biggest issues I have been facing my entire life. I’m so thankful that 17-year-old me never gave up, no matter how much she was gaslit. Now, I can begin the healing journey for her. It should be mentioned, however, that some research finds 20% of people diagnosed with Bipolar 2 die of the disease. This is a death sentence for a large group of people with the struggles I face. I hope I am lucky enough that this is not a death sentence for me, but a life sentence.
remember how it felt that day—hot and humid, as it always is in Florida—but mingled with a slow sense of calm, only brought upon by a Sunday or a national holiday. It was a day where everyone was moving languidly, in hopes of making the time last longer.
I A SUN BLEACHED MEMORY
by Brenna McWha
My mom and I decided to take our bikes out on that long stretch of morning. We had brightly colored beach cruisers, each with its own wicker basket, which we packed with waters and oranges and sunscreen. We took to the streets, biking aimlessly through the quaint backroads that ran parallel to both the Atlantic Ocean and the Indian River Lagoon.
I remember seeing my mom biking steadily, slightly ahead of me, wafts of coconut trailing her, cut by the salty air. Once I caught up with her, we pedalled together, falling into a rhythm that can only be found between a mother and daughter.
The soft hum of cicadas enveloped us, forcing me to raise my small, adolescent voice higher than usual to reach my mom’s ears. We talked about the plans for the day, the books we wanted to check out at the library, and pointed at yards that we agreed “looked lovely” glistening with pebbles of water from their sprinkler systems.
We eventually made our way to the sun bleached library. This trip was a weekly occurrence for us, but not usually on the bikes, and not usually on a day so strikingly beautiful.
After we left, I remember having to pedal harder to account for the extra weight of my books stacked in the front basket. We ate our oranges and then stopped for burritos afterwards. Shortly after, with bellies and baskets full, we made our way home.
Maybe I’m romanticizing when I think about this day now, but I recall seeing light leaks and sunshine filtered through palm fronds, hazy and ephemeral like a dream. When I can’t sleep, or when I’m stressed or plagued with homesickness, I think of the stark white sunshine and the bright blue sky, and the days when I was still a foot shorter than my mom.
I still consider this one of the best days of my life.
Today when I bike, it’s mostly on my own. Instead of a beach cruiser, it’s now a Citi Bike. My wicker basket has been replaced by a plastic tray with a bungee clasp. I now cycle parallel to the East River and the Hudson River, and instead of cicadas, I hear the blur of hundreds of voices that, when joined together, sound almost like the bugs in Florida.
While my scenery may be different, every time I get on a bike, I still picture the light leaks and the palm fronds, playing behind my eyelids like a montage. I don’t know if there will ever be another day that will evoke that same feeling, but I pedal on - in hopes of finding a way back to those summer streets and languid morning spent biking with my mom.
While it may seem that your roots haven’t even begun to dig into the dirt, they are already ripe with life beneath you. We’ve been watering and fertilizing and making room for you to grow and live and thrive.
Your garden is beaming with life. Peppers are growing nearby, brightening the earth where they bloom and traveling further than most could. Bees are busy carrying the honey that will sweeten the world you’ll grow in.
Your world is sunshine and yellow. Flowers bloom everywhere you look. Some are soft, Woven into branches that will keep you safe. Others pepper the sky around you. Everywhere you look, life is blooming and growing.
Your roots are already nurtured with such care. And one day, so soon, you’ll sit in this magical garden. Surrounded by those who have tenderly tended every grain of soil you will grow into.
And one day, someone’s going to ask you to talk about your roots: where you came from, who loves you, and what your childhood was like. And I hope the first word in your head is loved.
I hope that decades down the road, you’ll sit in a garden of your own, telling those around you about your family who loved you, even before we met you.
YOUR ROOTS
MY PHONE PURGE
How getting offline helped me get back to just being
by Rachel Loring
started thinking about my phone recently. Specifically, how I really haven’t gone without it since some fateful day in 2013. And then, in a more existential way, how painfully boring that being true made me.
I spent my childhood summers in Virginia at my grandma’s house. By the end of July, the endless dog days, I’d find myself face down on my grandma’s green carpet, snorting up dust, and all there was left to do was complain. I had exhausted pools, got tired of my video games, ran out of books to read, and had had enough of the endless games of tag and make-believe. I was deeply and emphatically bored.
My aunts would always say one thing: only boring people get bored.
At the time, an accusation of being boring felt like an insult. And now, like most things adult figures said to me, it rings utterly and painfully true.
When I thought about my phone usage, the main theme that I kept going back to was how dulled my phone made me feel. I wanted to read, I wanted to think, I wanted to create, but all I could do was scroll. And worse, I was bored while doing that. I found that the more I used my phone, the less I could tolerate boredom. Brushing my teeth? Boring, put on a YouTube video. Doing my makeup? BORING, watch
a show. Watching a show? BORING doom scroll on Instagram reels and get anxious about the state of the world and/or fall for endless ragebait.
Eventually, this boredom, this endless cycle of distraction, of scrolling, of numbing began to upset me. I became too numb. I stopped creating. I stopped being.
I felt like someone who used to think. Someone who used to have ideas, who used to get inspired.
I was now someone who only consumed. Who consumed mindlessly, thoughtlessly. The more I consumed, the more I was consumed. Every time I sat down to write, all I’d end up staring at was a blank screen for hours. Every time I sat down to read, I’d end up just staring at my phone with a book in my lap. I was utterly bored with my inner world, no longer wondering, instead just steeping in endless numb-anxious cycles. And the more I stopped creating, thinking, and being, the harder it became to do those things.
I started to think: what does it say about me if I have absolutely nothing to say? Then, I started to really worry: what if, when I finally have something to say, something to say after all of this endless listlessness, I am no longer able to say it? What if I lose my creative core, my connection to words? My ability to express?
This was extremely upsetting, so upsetting that I sat with it for a long time before I decided to make a change. What if I gave up my phone, deleted all my apps, locked it away, and nothing happened? If I still couldn’t create? What if I had truly and utterly ruined that part of me, done some kind of complete damage?
But at the same time, I couldn’t help but think: what if I gave up my phone and everything got better? If I felt
unchained and free? Less bogged down? So, I decided to give it a try.
For two months, I deleted any apps I deemed unessential. I set strict rules for myself: no online shopping, no multi-screen use, reading and writing every day, and only using my laptop (not my phone) for video streaming. I thought these goals still allowed some freedom, but focused on delayed gratification and attention.
Unlike some other essays I read about being off the grid or videos I watched, my phone purge wasn’t a magical endall be-all fix. In fact, after two months, I feel like I still have a long way to go before I feel totally and completely free of my self-imposed online chains. But at the same time, my phone purge did slow me down.
When I look back on my notes from the beginning of my purge, I don’t relate to the feelings I had then. The urge to update people about my every thought, the need for distraction, I felt its tug lessen on me to the point where I forgot I’d even had those feelings in the first place. During my two months, I started to just sit. Sometimes with thoughts, sometimes without. And the things I used to care so much about: knowing what’s going on on the internet, the trends and memes, posting on Instagram, knowing what every creator on YouTube thinks about the latest terrible Disney live action remake, felt pointless and ultimately unimportant.
I haven’t yet regained my full attention span or my full capacity for boredom yet. I still have days where I play Sims for too long (though only on weekends now) or watch a show instead of reading a book (although I no longer use my phone when watching), but I feel much closer to the version of me I dream of getting back to.
And now, two months later, I am
thinking about my phone in a new way. How and if I even want to reintegrate myself online. For now, I redownloaded Instagram but set a strict time limit to thirty minutes a week and unfollowed about 500 people on it. I have added in phone-free time to my day to eliminate the final remaining problem of still having my phone with me all the time. And while I still am re-learning how to create, how to get back into the zone I once mastered, it doesn’t scare me like it once did. I know that if I keep going as I am, being bored with a purpose, that when the time comes to say something, I’ll be able to find the words.
Phone purge takeaways:
Sometimes delaying an urge was enough to stop it. I found that if I had to do the extra step of getting out my laptop to watch a video or stream a show, that little bit of extra work was enough to make it no longer desirable.
I didn’t like my phone as much as I thought I did. In fact, I realized I hated my phone. Once I no longer had the option to use it, I was almost relieved to do nearly any other task. Seriously, I paid bills, cleaned my room, and did laundry. My phone was truly an addiction and habit, not something I genuinely enjoyed.
I craved silence. I made no rules about not listening to music or podcasts, but found that I enjoyed doing tasks silently. I’ve started to enjoy cooking without any music or noise, and funnily enough, getting ready and doing my makeup without noise. It makes the quiet time I have feel more relaxing, and before going out into the hectic streets of NYC, I find I enjoy that quiet recharge time.
It really was that damn phone. I realized that a lot of the time my anxiety came from when I wasn’t able to use my phone as a distraction. I was
constantly distracted by it. I’d wake up, check it, listen to a video while getting ready, be on it until I got on the subway, and then the second I had to sit down and be still, the lack of distraction threw me into instant panic. Once I started my day with peace, I felt the peace carry throughout the day longer.
Journaling makes time pass. It’s my new go-to when waiting at appointments, sitting on public transport, or wanting to extend my bedtime a little with an activity.
I was able to relax more on weekends. Since I was using my time more wisely during the week, if I wanted to veg out a little more on the weekends, I felt it was okay, instead of feeling tons of guilt and self-loathing.
I really loved being less accessible. Maybe it’s because I’ve been using Instagram every day since 2013, but going out and NOT posting felt like a luxury. No one knew if I was on vacation (I took two during my break and felt like a secret agent) or if I was at a baseball game or if I was just enjoying time with friends. Being off the grid was freeing. In fact, the thought of posting again on Instagram just feels like a bore.
It is easier to get out of bed when you don’t look at your phone. And same for going to sleep. I used to think I needed my phone to “wake me up” in the morning; turns out the best way to wake up in the morning is to…just get out of bed. As a lifelong morninghater, this did actually make me feel much better, and I definitely found it easier to wake up earlier.
Being out of the loop isn’t bad…at all. It actually became kind of fun, having my friends tell me what was going on in pop culture. I felt like an alien learning about random celebrity gossip and trying to make sense of it.
WHERE DID SHE GO?
by Isabella Dawson
Where did she go
Little girl with the rainbow sneakers
Pigeon-toed, her hair in a bun
Passing notes with smiley faces
Where did she go
Pink skinny jeans and stolen mascara
Staying after class for popping bubblegum
Slipping out the window after dark
Where did she go
Skinny limbs and braced teeth
Best friends made in gym class
Football games on humid fall nights
Where did she go
Purple hair and sneaking cigarettes
Writing in a journal about her new boyfriend
Pillow talking late after house parties
Where did she go
Her dad’s college sweatshirt, tears wiped by the sleeves
Sitting in a therapist’s sunken couch
A time she’ll think about often
Where did she go
I see her in the mirror sometimes
When I feel the sweet sense of remembrance
I think she just looks a little older now
SONNET 7: FOR STONE FRUITS
AND RAPTORS
by Alex O’Brien
Summer came slow—I didn’t taste peach til’ June. His cooler, ripe with beer, started to turn. We cartwheeled barefoot, chasing down the moon. Each glance a spark, not knowing it could burn.
It was an osprey renaissance; heat-rough. I stared, charmed; you rolled your eyes as they flew. You scoffed at sunscreen, called it soft, kids’ stuff. July was love and cruelty, split in two.
The days grew long; we slept with curtains drawn. Sun blisters healed, but something raw remained. The crickets sang, then quieted by dawn, and in their hush, a softer ache was named.
Lying breathless beneath the whispering fan, I loved you like only a young girl can.
inner children
by Rachel Williams
Going back to the land of pretend Dressing up
Rainbows and colors everywhere Watching the stars
Swimming in galaxies far away in my mind
This is 27. It’s no different than 7, no different than 17. I love all the same things, I am all the same things. I paint the same things in the same style, because I realize now that I knew what I was doing all along: following my heart. All that has changed is that I love that 7-year-old, I love that 17-year-old. I hope in ten years, I can say I love them all, including the 37-year-old.
