I remember the first time I saw him. I was in his apartment. I was somewhat dating his roommate, and it was my first time at his place. I was sitting on the couch, when he came from behind me. “My girlfriend gets me flowers, and all I have a is a beer bottle to put it in” he joked. He had thick black kinky hair, sharp facial features, scrawny. I instantly fell for his loud objectionable laugh. It's a funky phenomenon, isn't it? Love at first sight. But I felt it. I felt it with him. He was wearing a Cosby like sweater, and baggy jeans. It was the year 1999, and we were dumb but didn't know it. I was 16. He was 24. I had met his friend through work. I was a caterer through a company in town. We mostly did low budget weddings. The food was simple - baked chicken, roast beef, sometimes fish. I was lucky enough to work with a few good friends. We would spend our breaks, flirting with the kitchen crew, and smoking cigarettes in the back of the box truck. We would hike up our skirts in hopes to gain some under the table tips from drunk old party goers. We would sometimes sneak a glass of champagne. The guy I was dating at the time, worked in the kitchen. We only dated very briefly and the only date I remember was a trip to the movies, and to Wendys for a frosty, which was my request - I was a cheap date. He truly was a very nice guy. A nice guy who was much older than me, a little rough around the edges, and had a child and an ex wife. Our relationship - or lack there of - quickly fizzled out. Which was fine by me, because remember- I was in madly love with his roommate. Luckily, even though things didn't work out with us, I was able to keep in touch with his roommate via mutual friends. And come to find out, he felt the same about me as I did him, and maybe even more. We spent hours chatting online, through chat messaging. He was all I ever thought about, day in and day out. He convinced me that no one on this planet could love me more than he did. I believed it to be true, because at that time - it absolutely was. But remember, I was only 16. He was 8 years older than me. As much as I wanted him, as much as I craved him - I was too practical. What would my parents say? What would my friends say? No one would would imagine that a 24 year old could genuinely love a 16 year old. So, years went by and I continued to keep myself away. I didn't let myself do what I wanted - I didn't let him do what he wanted. We dated other people. We maybe even loved other people. But we always came back to each other. Years later, I found myself in college. I had a rough night - had too much to drink. I was in the city - he was home, about 30 min away. I called him, I told him to come get me - that I needed him. He said, “listen, you're drunk. You don't know what you are saying. Go home, call me when you get there” I didn't let him hang up. I convinced him to come get me. And he did. He picked me up and drove me to his place. Everything was foggy. I had drank too much - but I knew exactly what I was doing, and I knew exactly where I was. We got back to his place, and I crawled into his bed. He got in next to me, laying down by my side. I could smell him. I wanted to feel him. I loved this man with all my heart - with all my everything. I wanted to show him how much I treasured him, and treasured all our years together. We had never been together like this. And then we made love. We didn't have sex, we didn't fuck, no - we made love. We melted into each other. I told him I loved him over and over, and he told me the same. I had never felt that way before, and I haven't since. Ours is a story that never turned into a story. A relationship never fully realized, always from a distance. But it was ours. He was my secret - a special treasure I wanted to keep to myself. He was all mine. He was sacred to me. Unfortunately by the time I was smart enough to realize this, he had moved on. And though I do not blame him now - I did then. Many years of pursuing a love that wont take the chance proved exhausting. There were times in those first few years, that I would think of him, and my chest would get so heavy, and the tears would swell up. I would find myself feeling like I had lost something that would never be found again. Those ugly words, “the one that got away” would ring in my head. But life moves on, and I have as well. I no longer hear a song and think of him. I am no longer swimming in regret, there are no more what ifs. But I will always hold a place in my heart, body and soul for him, and I hope he is doing the same for me.

Judgement of Character Remember the girl who became pregnant way back in school? She is grown now and so is her child. Do you recall how you gossiped and laughed as she walked by you in the hall? Did you ever wonder why she had such a sad countenance and rarely smiled? Did you care? The names you gave her, she heard. The words that cut like a knife, she felt. The love and friendship she desperately needed, she never found. You went about your life without a second thought, except to think of something more to say about her clothes, her character, or plain unassuming look. She wasn't really anybody. She was simply someone to make comments about while you felt better about yourself. Why, because you weren't her. She is grown now. She added drugs to her daily routine as she lived with the shame, the words or looks of disgust concerning her character. She was broken because no one asked about her life. She is still broken. No one cared how she was doing or why she was so sad. No one asked to be a friend with a hand held out in love. No one, because they were glad, they weren't her. Had you asked, you would have know. She was raped, repeatedly. She was sexually molested daily by a family member. The baby, the pregnancy was a result of that abuse. The child was born and she did not know how to be a parent, because she was not whole. She was only a part of what she could have been. No help, no support, just condemnation of her character. They say kids can be cruel and they can. Who taught them to be that way? What do they hear at home to repeat or express such things to another. When you are condemning the character of another, what does that say about yours? A Journey Through Grace By An Ordinary Woman- Cheryl

He stared outside the window, looking at the children playing with their pants in the air, Without fear or worry of what was to come. smiling he, remembered when he was younger, when he was just like them when, he thought the only thing to life was eating and playing his football. that was, until he met her anyways. he could still picture her in his mind her lips and she pout, her scolding him, and her smile that he spent everything he had for. The colour of her eyes that saw through his soul, the words she told him encouraging him when he was down. He remembered the promises they made to each other, the words he whispered in her ears just to make her smile, the note he passed to her when he thought their teachers weren't looking, the things he said when he thought she wasn't listening. The time he spent thinking of what their future held, the moment he thought he was going to lose her and cried even when his father said men weren't suppose to cry. he knew then, crying wasn't a weakness, it was a strength admitting you were scared. He knew then, even though He might had been bad in everything even though his teachers said he was useless, he was sure he was good at making her smile. She was more than his everything, she was his vision and then he realised the saying was true; you becomes a man, when you discover something you are truly ready to fight for and his was her, she was the vision he discovered she was the one that made it possible for him to be what he was today.\n\n\\"you still day dreaming.\\" a voice said wrapping hands around him.\n\n\\"well can't a man day dream.\\" he said listening to the laughter that filled the room.\n\n\\"So, what were you day dreaming about.\\" she asked pulling a seat close to him.\n\n\\"A girl I once loved.\\" he smiled trying to read the expression on her face.\n\n\\"I though you still loved her.\\" she asked innocently.\n\n\\"I don't, she became me I developed something stronger that love for her.\\" he said kissing her softly.\n\n\\"well....\\"she said, pulling her body close to him \\"she still loves you I still love you and my glad I became your vision.\\"\n\n\\"you didn't just become my vision you gave me another vision you gave me the power to express my words.\\"\n\n\\"daddy.\\" a voice screamed cutting their conversation.\n\n\\"she is your daughter.\\" he heard his wife say as she ran into the kitchen but she was right, they were his and he was theirs and even when he spent his days fooling around they were there waiting for him when, he asked himself everyday what, was a home they showed him, they were his home.

He stared outside the window, looking at the children playing with their pants in the air, Without fear or worry of what was to come. smiling he, remembered when he was younger, when he was just like them when, he thought the only thing to life was eating and playing his football. that was, until he met her anyways. he could still picture her in his mind her lips and she pout, her scolding him, and her smile that he spent everything he had for. The colour of her eyes that saw through his soul, the words she told him encouraging him when he was down. He remembered the promises they made to each other, the words he whispered in her ears just to make her smile, the note he passed to her when he thought their teachers weren't looking, the things he said when he thought she wasn't listening. The time he spent thinking of what their future held, the moment he thought he was going to lose her and cried even when his father said men weren't suppose to cry. he knew then, crying wasn't a weakness, it was a strength admitting you were scared. He knew then, even though He might had been bad in everything even though his teachers said he was useless, he was sure he was good at making her smile. She was more than his everything, she was his vision and then he realised the saying was true; you becomes a man, when you discover something you are truly ready to fight for and his was her, she was the vision he discovered she was the one that made it possible for him to be what he was today.\n\n\\"you still day dreaming.\\" a voice said wrapping hands around him.\n\n\\"well can't a man day dream.\\" he said listening to the laughter that filled the room.\n\n\\"So, what were you day dreaming about.\\" she asked pulling a seat close to him.\n\n\\"A girl I once loved.\\" he smiled trying to read the expression on her face.\n\n\\"I though you still loved her.\\" she asked innocently.\n\n\\"I don't, she became me I developed something stronger that love for her.\\" he said kissing her softly.\n\n\\"well....\\"she said, pulling her body close to him \\"she still loves you I still love you and my glad I became your vision.\\"\n\n\\"you didn't just become my vision you gave me another vision you gave me the power to express my words.\\"\n\n\\"daddy.\\" a voice screamed cutting their conversation.\n\n\\"she is your daughter.\\" he heard his wife say as she ran into the kitchen but she was right, they were his and he was theirs and even when he spent his days fooling around they were there waiting for him when, he asked himself everyday what, was a home they showed him, they were his home.

Simplicity is a virtue or so I've been told, so I'll be brief with my introduction. I wrote a poem, filed it away and today I intend to pull it from that file. I'm not going to post the poem itself here today simply because I am one part strategic and two parts coward. In truth, I simply want to use this article as a space to share a snapshot of my creative process and hopefully affirm for fellow writers that inspiration can come from anywhere. Be it a hackneyed topic, a vague metaphor or a vignette specific to your life, inspiration is very personal and organic. No two people see the world the same way. Even identical twins with the same political, religious and social leanings spot things in this world that their counterpart would never take note of on their own. That's what makes the creative process so beautiful: the minute differences in how individuals make sense of the world around them. The snapshot I intend to share is a picture of this concept of the uniqueness of perception and how the basic process of taking in our environment lends itself to the creative process. Without further ado, onto the snapshot, I promised. Growing up in the United States I remember always being bombarded with documentaries and articles about "run-of-the-mill" people overcoming insane obstacles or outwitting life and finding unfettered success as a result. I remember watching a movie about John Hopkins in my middle school health class and thinking to myself, "There is no way I can measure up to that". I was (okay maybe I still am) bad at math, I was an average science student and I was convinced that everything I wrote fell on deaf ears. Point being, I went onto high school and my first job feeling trapped beneath the weight of unrealistic expectations and a perfectionists attitude. Being the quirky kid I was, my default response for that level of internal anguish was to put my angst into words. So I did. Hence, the poem I mentioned earlier came to be. Considering my volatile emotional state at the time, I drew on my feelings of hopelessness as I began the poem. Oddly enough, as I wrote the piece took a turn from a desolate tone to a more angry tone. I suppose part of my brain turned the issue I was writing about around and asked, "Why am I being presented with such lofty expectations in the first place?" The focus shifted from the feelings induced by the expectations placed on me to the motives behind those expectations. That simple shift in thinking added gravity to my poem that otherwise would've been absent. The poem was no longer a simple complaint. It now presented the issue of youth feeling hopeless in the face of unrealistic expectations and explained to the reader that the problem has layers. The poem now felt like it had a purpose beyond my personal catharsis and I felt more impactful as a poet despite hiding the work in my google drive for almost half a decade now. In any case, I looked around myself and saw a pattern: un-proportional expectations causing kids to want to give up. Then I put that observation on paper and found myself thinking about the "who, what, when, where, why and how" of the issue. A thoughtful poem and a reflective article about the process of writing it later, I find that the issue I captured on paper all those years ago is still relevant. The abridged moral of the story: inspiration can come from anywhere. So, take inspiration as it comes and don't underestimate the value of whatever comes out of it.