Don’t Forget

If life was always easy, it wouldn’t be worth living. With happiness comes difficulties, and we all pay the price. Don’t forget where you came from, as that is the strength to keep you going. You’ve done this before, you can do it again. The strength in remembering is what will keep you living. Don’t forget. . .

-S Fuschetti


Always Tomorrow

She gave it her all, she loved with everything she had. She wept for the times she failed, for the times she couldn’t stop it. She devoted her life, thoughts, everything she had to dousing the fire but it was never enough. The addiction was more than she could handle. She couldn’t cure it, couldn’t stop it and only fed it with every breath she took. But then again, she didn’t see it wasn’t her responsibility to fix this – that her help was failing them. This was clouded by love, because, how could you not help them to bed as they stumbled along, leaving a trail of disaster from too many drinks, knowing you would be in the same place tomorrow, and the next day. ‘Just one more drink, a job can wait until tomorrow…’ – they would say.  She would sigh, and agree ‘Of course mom, we can fix everything tomorrow…’ – always tomorrow, as they poured that last drink. That last drink.

– S Fuschetti


Death was never a fascination for her. Death was something to fear. It was her kryptonite. It was to be avoided at all costs. To her death was like the wind, you couldn’t always see it but you can feel it. Inching closer and closer. Some days it was right there, as if it was waiting for her in the shadows. Others, it was toying with her. Crawling under her skin. Hiding in her closet or under her bed. Always on the back of her mind. Just waiting for her. She looked over her shoulder, knowing she could never escape. -S Fuschetti

Welcoming Winter

It was so dark. That was her first thought. So dark she could barely see the street lamp illuminate her front yard. Mists of white dust swirled past her window frosting it with ice. Just a crack, she opened the window and a gust of wind raced in to fill every nook and cranny of her bedroom.

The frigid air filled her lungs with ice. Swirling around her soul with a sense of comfort, she took another step to the window. Holding her sweater more tightly, she took a better look as her eyes adjusted to the black mist. The song of winter was loud in her ears, making it impossible to hear anything else.

A loud crack echoed, followed by an even darker mist of cold snow surging into the house. Leaning further out the window, she saw the large mass that had hit the ground. The tree branches broken, scattered about the yard, as if lost reminisces of a bloody battle. What was left of the leaves was being carried away with the howl of the storm.

She pulled back in the house, her dark brown hair swirling around her like the leaves in the wind. She listened quietly for a sound of breathing from the next room to insure her escape. Slowly she pulled on her wool socks over her pants, and slipped on her snow boots. Her mittens were found hiding at the bottom of her draw, as if to say they were not ready for this cold, long winter to begin. Silent was the struggle, her scarf and hat appeared buried with her winter coat – not ready to face this next battle.

She opened her door, listening again for that reassuring noise. As quietly as possible, she crept to the front door and slipped out as without a sound.

“Ar deireadh,” she whispered into the wind.

She made her way across the path, towards the battlefield. Gently, she walked carefully to avoid the black ice that had formed on the walkway. This was what she had been waiting for, she knew it. The black mist slowly pulled her further and further away, the cold wind warming her soul.

Dancing to the music of the wind, she turned about and started running, laughing with joy. The snow, singing louder now, danced with her. Her long brown hair pulling free, whipped about her face. Her dark, brown eyes pierced the horizon, taking in every site.

The wind died down, the snow became slower and slower, less and less around her. She paused, looking at the storm that caused her pure joy, was now slipping away. This was a part of her, she knew. This was who she was. The first snowfall was like taking her first breath, allowing her to breath the first time all year. She smiled at the sun began peeking over the trees.

She closed her eyes, dreaming of the perfect snow, the snow with no imperfections of dancing feet, joyful jumping and running around the yard. She pictured the slow snowfall through the rising sun, the creek of the trees in the wind, the footsteps washed away as if she was never there. She stopped at the front door, turned around and glanced at the now pristine front yard, as if she had never been.

She slipped inside, and closed her bedroom door, wondering if her first snow dance had really happened. Closing her eyes, she savored the smell of snow that surround her. With a start, she heard the song of winter fill her room and opened her eyes. The window, still opened, showed her that she had not dreamt her magical experience.

Leaning out the window, she smiled as the snow rushed past her, welcoming winter.



Welcome To My Mind

You never realize how hard it is to put your thoughts down on paper, until you really try. There are those moments where you just have that urge, the urge to be creative, to create something with your mind in real life. I imagine that’s how real artists feel. The real artists who have mastered that challenge of transferring that idea from their mind into something they can share with the world. It’s completely inspiring and totally frustrating. I’ve spent my whole life trying to do that, and at first I thought that art was the direct route. But EVERYTHING is art. Not just paintings, but books, movies, poems, music. Everything is. I’ve seen so many beautiful things created, so many paintings, drawings, stories and novels that someone just pulled out of the depths of their minds for all the world to experience.

At first, I really struggled with that. But recently, I started thinking about it differently. As I started thinking about it more and more, I became even more frustrated. I always feel like I start things, projects, that I never can complete. I am always afraid to put myself out there, the real me. I ALWAYS hold back. It’s the worst feeling to know I had a blog, this blog, out there for 4 years and every 6 months or so I delete all of it’s content and try to start over.

Of course, I am always trying to copy others, that’s my problem. I started a blog because I read this really successful Food Blog that inspired me. . . inspired me to want to do the EXACT same thing. I started photography because I saw someone take photos of nature, and I wanted to do the EXACT same thing. I could keep going, but I think you get the idea.

I tend to do that. A LOT. It’s like I have this drive, to morph a characters thoughts, ideas, lifestyle, etc, into my life. I’ve been doing that for as long as I can remember. Part of me knows I am doing it, but I know there is a larger part that likes to ignore it, pretend I am not changing something about myself simply because I read a story where they did that too. Pretending I don’t wrap myself up in that world, story, movie, T.V. show or even that persons life.

Like I said, this is very hard to put things down on paper. I’ve never been the best writer, or best at anything. As I said, my problem always was that I never committed to anything. I gave up, got bored, changed my mind 1,000 times over. As I woke up this morning, I knew I had to change that. I wanted to create something beautiful with my mind, even if its not beautiful to other people, I need to, have to see how beautiful it is just because I created it. And the thought of that, the thought that I am my own worst enemy, made me happy. It was more that I was happy to realize it. To realize that to the rest of the world, I don’t let myself go, not 100%. I always hold back, to afraid to let myself be.

So here I am, I am going to start blogging. Not for anyone else, not for fame, glory, to make someone jealous, or even to inspire anyone else. But for me, to show myself and prove to myself I can complete something. And for the experience, where I create things, even if they are terrible. But accept them, for how beautiful they are, even if they are not like anything else.

All in all, here is my everything. The window into my soul, that portal into the inner workings of my mind. Why am I really doing this you ask? Because. Because. . .I want to prove to myself that everything I create is beautiful, that everything anyone creates is beautiful. Therefore, not a SINGLE post will ever be deleted. I will post stores, poems, rants, book reviews, anything, ANYTHING I feel like. No structure, no goals. Just me, welcome to my mind. I hope you enjoy.