rachael gilbert.

i am composed primarily of a love for my cat and an obsession with harry potter. perhaps that is childish. maybe kittens and magic are things that i was supposed to have left back in elementary school along with recess and innocence but on july 31^st i will always check the mailbox for letters written in green ink and i will forever love my cat, who eats too often and who pokes holes in my favorite sweaters with his claws. i dislike capitalization because i do not understand its importance. my name is my name regardless if it begins with a little "r" or a big one. sentences will begin and end regardless of its existence; besides it is self-centered to believe that my name deserves a capital while other words like jelly beans and mitochondria and kangaroo do not.
           i’ve watched the same tv show four times over and i’ve read the same series nineteen times and i’ve listened to the same album more than i’d like to admit. perhaps that is not understandable. but for some reason i find comfort in the things that do not change. no matter how terrible the world gets, dean winchester will always drive a ’67 chevy impala and sherlock will always solve crimes and harry will always hate potions class and the little prince will forever long after his rose and the head and the heart will always sing about their namesake. there is hope to be found in that.
          i sometimes wish i could fly, mostly because i find it frustrating that several tons of metal can propel itself through the air and i can’t even levitate; but also i’d like to see the world from a perspective other than my own and maybe looking at the world upside down will make me see right-side up and i apologize because this sentence has gone on too long and i’m well past the 150 minimum but i’ll keep on going because sometimes i get stuck on things like elevators and people and words.
          i am a sentimental person. i believe that flowers are more than flowers and that hope can be found in a home. i look for messages inside of bottles and hunt for men in the moon and wish on falling stars. but i do not much believe in god or faith or anything beyond myself. when i told my father this he said that the fault was mine, and then he blamed himself. but i cannot find fault in him or myself or the world for that matter. somehow that message just got lost somewhere between the heavens above and these god-forsaken fingertips.

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