See the Sun
Love is subjective. It wraps us tight in pastel blankets during our childhood, and it begins with a kiss goodnight from our parents. Love can be that first date nervousness, a celebration of a 40 year marriage, or a cake made from scratch for your friend's birthday.
Chocolate Cake is from Mars
After what the chocolate cake did to me, I ripped out the recipe from the aging binder of Clark's disgusting cookbook. It read:
The Diosa Project
"La Diosa" is spanish for goddess. A goddess is someone that radiates beauty, and is open minded to their life's purpose. It is a figure that holds feminine power, and it is a symbol of divinity. Ultimately, it is a title that I have been striving to call myself in its purest form.
Love is not a body.
I thought that love was a message about my eyes. Even though the world had brown eyes, I was told that mine were brand new.
The oak of the old barn slightly breathed out as the sunset faded into a windy fall night. It was cold, and a chill crept through my windbreaker even after the workout I just managed to knockout. What was odd, however, was seeing a few pieces of yellowish paper sticking out from the slits in the barn's crumpled wood. Their placement caught my immediate attention.
Portal to Somewhere
I was numb on the cold dirt of the barn floor. On a friday, as usual. Its vintage red wood from the 1900's barely kept the wind from creeping between the open pannels, while the structure tipped back and forth in the coming storm.
The Land of Green Stomachs
I had a dream last night after hearing Sonia's story. A sea of green stems covered the fields below the dipping hills and gray mountains. The perfume of marigolds stretched far, and their scent was carried by the gentle wind through the strands of my messy hair. I looked into the distance, eyeing what my abuela called "the land of green stomachs." It was an area of rich soil where vegetation would thrive, a symbol of vitality and nutrients being soaked through nature's veins.
ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔤𝔬 𝔉𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔰 The most notable memories I have of pre-covid life are the summer nights on 18th street. There were myriad Mexican festivals to attend that popped up throughout my vacation months, and for years I had always ventured out to experience the sweet aromas of my comfort foods. From the "Fiesta del Sol" to the "Mole Festival", these events took place in the streets of Chicago's primarily Latinx neighborhoods. Vendors, musicians, and booths full of Mexican wares lined the sidewalks, showing a taste of home for many immigrant families.