For a while, every happy couple I saw seemed at worst a fraud and at best a grasp at the impossible. I wanted to tell them: It won't always be this way. One of you is going to hurt the other. One day, when the happiness of this moment has rotted into bitterness, one of you is going to wish this happy moment never happened at all. Because where the instant brought giddiness and butterflies and plans and possibility and hope, the memory will bring only unquenchable sorrow. You will only end like the couple I saw one cold day on campus, standing on the banks of the Red Cedar in the rain, their plans and hopes and efforts, the possibility they thought they had, draining down their faces. 

And then I met you. By some serendipitous happenstance or maybe by some Grand Plan placing all the players in appropriate position--I met you. And when, one warm August night I stood on your front step and decided that to save myself, I would never come back again--you only pulled me closer. And I never even left.

So now I want to tell everyone I see: When you are tempted to leave it all by the riverside to drown in the swirling waters, be rushed away with the rain--hold on instead. It won't always be this way.



I am a high school English teacher with a Master's of Liberal Studies in Creative Writing from University of Denver and a Bachelor of Arts degree in German, with a minor in English, from Michigan State University. I enjoy writing, reading, running, walking my dogs, and spending time with my husband. My poetry has appeared in the national young adult literary magazine, Cicada, and my personal essays have appeared in The Christian Science Monitor and The Richmond Times-Dispatch. Currently, I am working on (trying to work on!) my first novel.