If I Could Be Anything...
Ellen Pearon
Mrs. Stubenrauch
Adv. Comp.
March 9, 2013
If I could be anything that I wanted – person, object, or concept; real, or not real – what would I choose to be? Nobly, I could become the cure for cancer; selfishly, I could be a celebrity; obnoxiously cliché, I could wish to have a happy ending. However tempting these options may be, my choice is not found in any one of them: I only desire to be noticed, half-way, by you. Regular, ordinary, seemingly insignificant; I want to be part of your routine. I could be the alarm clock pulling you from sleep, the first sound consciously registered by you each morning. The cup of coffee you need to consume before alert can be a name that belongs to you – the familiar warmth and bitterness, comforting you into the day, is something I wish to be. Possibly I long to be a mirror – whatever surface you look to for your reflection on your way out the door; look to me for a few moments, take whatever you need. I wish I could fall from the sky as a snowflake, unbalanced and barely frozen, and that I would be so lucky to land on your eyelash so you could see me – notice me, half-way – acknowledge my presence, though I would not keep you from continuing on your way. The line you re-read in a book, so interested in understanding its message: how jealous I am of that sentence and how I long for your affinity towards it. I want to be the little black dot in the middle of your vision for a few moments following the flash and staccato click of a captured memory. I want to be your favorite pen, slightly chewed on, low on ink, the one you dig through your entire bag to find. Even more so I desire to be the ink from that pen that you have stamped on the back of your hand – a reminder, which you will soon forget, sinking into your skin. Like screaming sirens and flashing lights on an ambulance passing by your window, I want to be the distraction, for a moment, that pulls your attention from the task you are absorbed in. I
Mrs. Stubenrauch
Adv. Comp.
March 9, 2013
If I could be anything that I wanted – person, object, or concept; real, or not real – what would I choose to be? Nobly, I could become the cure for cancer; selfishly, I could be a celebrity; obnoxiously cliché, I could wish to have a happy ending. However tempting these options may be, my choice is not found in any one of them: I only desire to be noticed, half-way, by you. Regular, ordinary, seemingly insignificant; I want to be part of your routine. I could be the alarm clock pulling you from sleep, the first sound consciously registered by you each morning. The cup of coffee you need to consume before alert can be a name that belongs to you – the familiar warmth and bitterness, comforting you into the day, is something I wish to be. Possibly I long to be a mirror – whatever surface you look to for your reflection on your way out the door; look to me for a few moments, take whatever you need. I wish I could fall from the sky as a snowflake, unbalanced and barely frozen, and that I would be so lucky to land on your eyelash so you could see me – notice me, half-way – acknowledge my presence, though I would not keep you from continuing on your way. The line you re-read in a book, so interested in understanding its message: how jealous I am of that sentence and how I long for your affinity towards it. I want to be the little black dot in the middle of your vision for a few moments following the flash and staccato click of a captured memory. I want to be your favorite pen, slightly chewed on, low on ink, the one you dig through your entire bag to find. Even more so I desire to be the ink from that pen that you have stamped on the back of your hand – a reminder, which you will soon forget, sinking into your skin. Like screaming sirens and flashing lights on an ambulance passing by your window, I want to be the distraction, for a moment, that pulls your attention from the task you are absorbed in. I