“I have these moments where the blood rushes through my beating screaming heart, where no matter how fast I type or how quickly I paint, I can’t seem to get the current in me to be portrayed anywhere else but within me. There’s this raging storm in me and my mind runs for the woods and gets lost. It’s absolutely beautiful to be a lost wolf on the prowl for a place to send my storm’s lightning.”
I take a moment and put down my pen to analyse what I’ve written. I have this habit of comparing things to nature, but what other way to make a concept breathtaking than to compare it to one of God’s creations? It’s extremely primal, but then again let’s face it: aren’t we all animals?
I look up to see Ms. Rossiter giving class. It looks like she’s acting out the things she says. She’s not just a teacher, she’s an actress.
“Words are meaningless little things. The letters they make up are just symbols that represent something else” she announces moving from the one side of the class to the other like a lion in a cage.
“When you read the word flower you don’t just see the word or the letters it’s made up of – you see what it symbolizes. You picture that flower, whatever type it may be and whichever connotations come with it will, of course, vary.”
She pauses to see the reaction in the class, her eyes wild and wide.
“Whether you think of something colorful in a beautiful garden or something wilting in a vase depends on your experiences, mood, substance, et cetera, but that has more to do with the way you are you.”
Her eyebrows move with every word as though they form a rollercoaster ride. Her eyes go wide again and then close thin.
I look next to me at Autumn. She’s eating up every word Ms. Rossiter has to say. As if languages weren’t enough up her alley, this is what makes her, her. “This is Autumn’s substance” as Ms. Rossiter would say whilst elaborately moving her arms in reference to something.
Autumn takes a lock of her light auburn hair and twirls it around her index finger once or twice and then pulls on it softly, slowly going down its length as her mouth is agape, her green eyes bright as they take in each and every word for processing.
If I could describe Autumn in three bullets, it would be:
- The checkmate in a game of chess;
- the dissent of nostalgia; and
- the melancholy of a birthday.
I guess you could call her my downfall.
Graced with alluring beauty, she intrigues you with her smile and then captivates you with her words. She’s the Venus Flytrap – you’re the fly. She wins, you lose.
It’s easy to underestimate her. I mean, when is someone actually more than a pretty face?
Appearing oblivious to the world one may mistake her for naïve when in reality she’s just indifferent. Why waste time and energy on the small stuff when she’s already looking at the big picture in full HD?
Autumn and I have a functionally dysfunctional friendship, but putting two people together that are both a complete paradox would do that.
Saying “it’s complicated” is like brushing off Trump’s presidency as something that won’t be tortuous.
My handy-dandy thesaurus would use the word labyrinthine.
Labyrinthine: adjective 1. Like a labyrinth; intricate and confusing; irregular.
Sounds about right.
I admire all the Posy sitting in the back row, one after the other. Mathew, Chloé, Autumn and me.
The reason why I call us the Posy is because it means “small bunch of flowers.” It’s something like a bouquet from an era long before this one.
Being referred to as a bunch of flowers has a symbolic feeling, because not only are flowers beautiful, but they’re often used as a gift to someone. I like the idea of us being a gift to the world – whether we are, well, that’s debatable.
Matthew / Matt or Matty is a perplexing specimen. I have a theory that he might be an alien.
Not only does he mystify me, but to be honest I think he mystifies himself.
His hobbies include sharing trippy gifs on Facebook and being in a new band every week.
He smokes way too much medical marijuana and is almost always listening to Arctic Monkeys.
Chloé could be summed up as pleasurable. Not only to the list of guys in the notebook she keeps, but to everyone around her. She’s all fun.
Y ou know that crazy girl you see at a party who’s having too much of a good time? That’s Chloé, except she doesn’t have to be at a party or be having too much of anything, because Chloé does not understand limits. She simply doesn’t have the capacity to know when to stop, and that results in some crazy times. She’s a daredevil who doesn’t say or take ‘no’. She’s an adventure.
Chloé shows me how to live in the moment. I hope she keeps her adventurous spirit alive in this cruel, dream-crushing existence we find ourselves in.