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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() I strolled down, along the Hudson River, the late afternoon autumn breeze ruffling the edge of my skirt. A picture caught my eyes. A man of umber eyes and hair with a beard that traced the edges of his warm smile. An officer. His pictures lingered on the cage-like metal strings, chrysanthemum shriveled around him. Their dried, browning petals lost their
grip at last and collected on the bricks. Next to them were the words that read: It’s so easy to remember you, but it hurts to miss you. From a loving father. A wave of emptiness with grains of doubt rose and fell. Then I saw the clouds. I sat on a rusty, wooden bench observing them. Layers of pastel paint fanned out behind the shadows of New York City. The coral gradually fading into the daffodil and finally the cerulean. Each color paling away towards the sky’s rim. The bridge and buildings bronzed in the light, and images of vague fireworks fragment in the clear blue below the running boats. As the sun distanced, the grey shadows of the clouds eased into white. I observed the silent sky. Then I traced my slow steps back to the world, listening to the waves crash. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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