Kelseyleigh Reber

It was the most fleeting time of day, and maybe that was why it was her favorite. Because if you blinked, if you closed your eyes or turned your head for even the briefest of moments, you might just miss it. And like most things in life, the transient, fleeting nature of the moment made it all the more special.

Things are never as they seem. A person. A Mark. A statement. They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again.

I have only ever known Guilt to have one weakness, one not easily given and not easily found: Forgiveness...In truth, Guilt__ strength lies not in the failure of others to grant us forgiveness, but in our failure to forgive ourselves.

At the bottom of freshly dug holes, I bury my problems alongside the waxen seeds.

Without their uniforms, they were probably nobodies, rejects. Give a man a uniform. Give him a few sparkly badges, a purpose, a gun ... and suddenly, he was no longer just another kid trying to make it through life without being ridiculed. Suddenly, he was a part of something. Something important. Something powerful. Something greater than he could ever be on his own. It was amazing how empowering the group could be.

When a caterpillar bursts from its cocoon and discovers it has wings, it does not sit idly, hoping to one day turn back. It flies.

This was where war happened, in someone__ backyard. Sometimes it was yours. Often, it was someone__ a world away. But it did happen. In this moment. In the next breath. Every day.Every day, someone lived in the midst of destruction and chaos. Every day, someone__ flower boxes filled with gunpowder__ haze, a child__ laughter turned to tears. There had been a day when someone watered those flowers in the evening__ peaceful quiet and the children caught fireflies in mason jars. And that day will come again, when the crickets and the bullets no longer have to compete for the night__ stage. But for now, all anyone could do was fight on the crickets_ behalf.

On a cloudy day, when the dim dance of the firelight and the warmth of the sconces are not enough, the books shed their own form of light. By the hundreds, they fill the shelves that stretch across every inch of exposed wall. They rise up to the ceiling, warriors of an impenetrable army, encircling my over-sized armchair and keeping me safe as they whisper their stories softly in my ear.

I have never known anyone to win a battle waged against his emotions. When a sentiment hoists his glimmering blade into the air, the battle is lost before it has begun.

There are many things in this life one can plan for, anticipate, control, manipulate, but love is not one of them.

No force but love can impel one to step willingly into the shadows so that the other may shine.

The worst prisons were not constructed of warped steel and stone. They were carved out of expectations and lies, judgment and corruption.

That is normal...To be afraid. Do not let anyone tell you any different. No one can ever say that what you feel is right or wrong, or pointless or unworthy of your time. That is a truth for you to decide. Ignorance is bliss, but there comes a time when you must open your eyes and face the truth__hen you must be honest with yourself.

A series of books, dilapidated and faded, sit bundled together. Most of the bindings are separating from the yellowed pages, but each is at home in its battered state. Their wrinkled pages and discolored skin tell not of old age, but of a good life. These books, unlike so many others, were not just read, but revisited, loved, and experienced.