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when you look up at the night sky
what do you see?
Did you know that everyone in the world is different from everyone else? It’s 2001 and Disney Channel just discovered race.
One thing about me? I take birthdays very seriously. One birthday in particular, actually—mine.
There was a beautiful girl who lived mostly in her head. She wasn’t beautiful for any notable extrinsic features. She looked quite normal, but radiated a natural essence of charm. Her name was Ruby.
Who were our parents as children? What were their hopes, dreams and desires? What did they have to give up in order to become adults? What parts of them slowly faded into distant memory, slipping away with each new second, minute, month, or milestone?
On a recent Saturday morning, I was bursting out of the dimly lit Paramount Theater in Downtown Charlottesville with furrowed brows and a long stride.
When I was in first grade, I wished for the first time to be a writer. I pictured holding a book and running my finger over my name in embossed text on the cover of a pristine book jacket.
Returning to Grounds as a fourth year, I feel as though life is moving too fast and has suddenly gotten away from me.
Every year on my birthday, I write a letter addressed to myself a year from now. I click send (god bless the internet and pre-scheduled emails) and the next birthday, in reading all that I wished for myself, I am renewed with hope and visions of futurity—a gift from the past.
Dear Man with the Matches,
Do you remember seeing a gaggle of college kids making their way down the street late one night?