There was once a girl, with a red umbrella. There were no patterns, or pictures on the umbrella; it was a clear, even, crimson bloom when open. The girl carried her umbrella everywhere, usually closed. She didn’t want to, it was such a striking color that even closed, was never discreet. But she couldn’t leave the umbrella behind, it followed her everywhere regardless of her wishes. She liked it sometimes, she knew it was special. The trouble was that guys always noticed, and even when she held it casually, sneakily, behind her back, neatly furled and tied, they still always managed to catch some glimpse of that demanding red. And they always asked her to open it for them, even if it were only a gentle tiptoe of rain. She almost never wanted to open it, and she always wanted it closed before they did. She didn’t like showing off her umbrella, she didn’t like the interest it attracted. But she couldn’t refuse requests that were nicely phrased; it felt impolite. And once she had blossomed her umbrella for their attentive eyes, she didn’t feel like she could close it before they had finished their viewing. It was like robbing someone of springtime, or an interruption mid speech. She had to find a convenient distraction or natural pause to retire this gregarious burden.
Every time she opened her umbrella, she had to lift it high into the sky so it could be properly admired, and it was heavy. Her arm grew weary after time, she ached from the undesired effort. She even cried, once, but it was drizzling that day, and raindrops were obsequious; no one tasted her face to realize that there was salt amidst the fresh water. She started to hate her red umbrella. She didn’t want to open it anymore; she wished to a god that she had never served, that they would stop asking. So of course they didn’t.
Don’t make me open my red umbrella, she thought, every time she met someone new. Don’t think about my red umbrella, don’t look at it, don’t talk to me about it, and for fucks sake don’t ask me to open it. Don’t open it for me either. She felt like curling up and imploding, minimizing her surface area so fast that she would disappear in half a heartbeat. Funny, that she thought of a heartbeat, her own vital organ was so bullied and neglected by this point that there was no constant pulsing. Sometimes she had to run away from everyone and hide under her covers, in absolute silence, to be sure there was still activity, that it had not died. Sometimes she felt like it had turned to stone, and that was why her feet seemed to melt into the ground, why she was stricken by a sudden desire for immobility, the deadweight in her chest making its tragic presence felt. It would have been nice to be a tree, ravaged at by the weather, without any pretensions of defense. It could rain forever and I would just die helpless, she thought, roots loosened by the torrents, without any pretext to open a red umbrella.
One day, she decided that the red umbrella was going to stay closed until a real thunderstorm, and nothing else. It didn’t matter who or how many asked her to open it, it would take the downpour that precipitated the Great Flood in the bible before she would relent. Then she would open her red umbrella, autonomously and willingly: just, all, happily, for herself.
THE END
I started work for my thesis today!!! So far, the title of the chapbook is going to be "The Bakery, the Bar and around the Block", I'm going to be getting 3 elements from random people at these 3 places and write a poem based on each 3 elements, and include a photo of them too. : ) it went really well today, I was at the Seven Stars Bakery (up hope st, took me like 20 minutes to walk there but it was suuunny!) and since it's valentine's day i just asked people who were together (don't know if they're couples, i could guess but i didn't ask) to give me elements. everyone was really nice and friendly : ) hopefully I'll get at least one poem out based on these groups of people soon -- it'll be up here.
quiet heart breaks are the worst ; so subtle you don't even notice at first. so silent you cannot hear it, until there's only stillness left. a little more serious, a little older. examining streets before crossing, gauging distances before leaping. thinking about how kindness may be the most important quality in a person.
Click on it ! I don't know how else to put it up with format preserved.... Just back from Vermont, had a very fun and funny time with everyone, doing minimal skiing :P i'm so humji meh, still plotting plans for ski/snowboard camp with the bro (maybe in december / next year after his a's...) 
