Well, so much for getting better at blogging. I feel guilty even thinking about it with all the schoolwork, work work, and social activities going on. Instead, let me share a short story I wrote for my Fostering Creativity class (with a few minor edits now that I reread it)…

Our History

I was immediately drawn to her essence. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was about her, but her presence was irresistible. I cut through the crowd to approach her and complimented her hat. It seemed like the least threatening way to strike up a conversation. She’d later tell me that she could see the intensity in my eyes and her curiosity got the better of her.

We quickly became fast friends. Our shared love of culinary delights provided endless nights of bonding. We’d try out new restaurants together, whip out favorite recipes from our family lineage, and hunt down food trucks with voracity. Grocery shopping was never a chore, but an adventure leading to many a tasty meal. Our evenings often ended with cups of tea on the porch as we shared childhood memories and discussed personal philosophies. I was intoxicated.

I learned so much from that woman. She imbued me with a sense of belonging. She was the only true friend I had. I was a country bumpkin, wide-eyed and fascinated with the world. She was a cosmopolitan woman, cultured and sophisticated. We were opposites in so many ways – she taught me to be inquisitive and question everything while I showed her how to be vulnerable and open her heart. Our spirits were wild and free, dancing together in the night sky as the moon smiled upon us. Our worlds would clash from time to time but we respected each other.

And then one night, she was gone.

When they told me, I could feel the blood rush to my face and my hearing begin to fade. I was completely stunned. My best friend, this perfect creature, had been torn away from me. As I stood there in disbelief, I felt completely lost. Who was I without her? How would I ever find another relationship as meaningful again? I walked through the world, numb with grief for months. I barely ate, barely slept. I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

I had nowhere to turn, so I turned inward. With time, I regained my sense of self and began to appreciate all the things she’d taught me about myself. Memories of our time together were the most precious gift I had; I cherished every moment. Bottled up inside me were stories that we had shared, so I started to write. At first it was like reopening a wound, but I needed to let it out. So I kept writing, as a tribute to her and for my own peace of mind. I found that once my thoughts got on paper, they haunted me less and I grew quite fond of them.

These beautiful stories were all I had left of her. I honor her by sharing our stories with you and your support has healed me. I’ve found my calling in life through her spirit.