There is something strange about loneliness.It creeps up quietly, gives no warning, and leaves a chill when it goes. It’s not the word itself that frightens—it’s the understanding of what it means. It warps the mind and heart, plunging like a knife into every pore. To be lonely is to be present yet apart, to watch life unfold beyond your reach no matter how hard you try to hold on. It is a terrible thing, loneliness—once unleashed, it never stops. Shadows move all around you,

The air feels alive. After escaping the musty confines of the plane, I was greeted by crisp January air that, somehow, felt like the middle of spring. After two days of chill, I was pleasantly surprised one morning by the warm rays of a sun that had been hiding for what felt like eons. Basking in that gold light, the beauty of my surroundings struck me as I was introduced to my new home in its pre-spring glory. Bees flitted around, landing on little purple flowers a quarter t

I am more than my culture yet I am nothing more than my culture The British arrived and left But forgot to take their sneers with them The Americans fought and conquered But forgot the people of this land We came We saw And we resigned ourselves to living A lie fabricated Designed to fit snugly A white mask, textbook hidden behind Shaking our heads Yes, no, and something in between

The wooden drum rolled down the hill, enjoying the feeling of the wind against its fibers. Branches brushed past, striking the drum, Creating a melody that resonated with the heartbeat below. Reaching the cliff's edge, the drum paused -- Was the feeling of liftoff worth the plummet to destruction? Resigning itself to the monotony of safety, the barrel froze in place, surveying the sea of lights below. Fibers began to snap and bend as the crate inched its way down the slippery