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Updated 2/25/2026
Updated Again 3/13/2026
Today it occurred. It came forth. Nothing to hold, nothing to keep back…..
no feelings of reservation, none…. Nor was there a longstanding, waning but still lingering -disappointment.
She told herself that she -was writing. Not holding back.
Not today…. not this time.
Today was for Jasmine, it was for her to just write.
Today was -her time- …
-her time to write.
There would be no restraint, no urge to rest, nothing to give way to …. She would not give way to pity ….
-Today young Jasmine would really write, keep writing and each thought was going to be acceptable.
She would now permit herself to be herself on this blue-lined rectangle. She determined to do this. She did. She did —- it.
So…
She wrote.
She did. Just …. What she knew she came to this desk on this day – to – do.
Jasmine wrote ….
It was early for this growing, limb dangling, emotionally changing, young woman-
This young being.
She witnessed a marbled grey through the window, the moisture easing about just around the bottom edges, it all came together. She had observed this detail with new eyes, envisioned it prior to entering the classroom.
It was good. This felt -correct on her day, her day to -write;
the mist, a silver fog which ambled as it decorated the view hung but didn’t weigh atop or over her on this Friday of -now …
This Friday morning was with Mr. Paul, the teacher.
…. Mr. Paul was someone she had gained something from.
That something was now apart of her, it was an energy that could hardly be explained.
This ‘something’ was a new connection to -herself, it was her finding her -within -her. This was an innermost- being, which he had always encouraged. This is what he most wanted for –
her.
She learned to express the vibrations of her heart, the pulsing that spoke out in her speckled language. This all came pouring from these writing times and on this beige marble grey morning she spoke clearly to that page. She did precisely- that.
Jasmine pulled a black pen that seemed to be waiting as she had fished for the right utensils.
Then…. from her backpack pocket, it came & she took down the barricades that stunted her desire to express.
Today she immediately pressed it to the lined paper of her notebook on which she wrote.
“They are people I ….
I -…. Look to …. I need them
I need them in my life…. I really love them…. …. But ….
Sometimes..— I see something …. And ….”
At first it didn’t quite rush on to the page the way she was looking for it to. …. She felt some restraint, as if her pen was being kept in a position that held it …
Then….
“And -it…. It…..
Tells me about where- they are now. I mean, we are all in this place, this home together….
But I see something that they are hiding from.”….
Jasmine was not holding back today. She was in her flow.
“They work so hard to create these ‘characters, they design these protective shells that guard them and then….
………. They have nearly erased their truest ‘self’.
They lost track, they forgot & gave away a piece of their, let’s call it their heart.”
Mr. Paul walked by, looked on and he tried to keep shuffling as if he didn’t notice…. He noticed. This….
This was something he noticed.
“Jasmine….” He whispered with an exhaled pride.
“You can write…”. … “… oh my”.
Jasmine sat up, quietly adjusted her position in the seat and she looked forward with a feeling she had never allowed herself to really ~feel, she never understood this feeling before.
This was a feeling of exuberant, unchained, blitzing – confidence.
“Um…. ….. well…. …” her neck, cheeks, forehead even, flushed with a rose tinted hue of pink.
“Thank you. … ..”. She stuttered as she blushed.
This time she lifted her head even further, extending her neck and finally, in this moment she released a smattering of insecurity. The flakes of doubt that she now began shedding with a subtle shake of her shoulders.
This was a day Jasmine would have to acknowledge. As much as she could doubt and smother herself with negative banter, this day she didn’t. This day was different.
“Young Jazz, please know that you have a frequency… let’s say you are a radio…. Your frequency is different, never forget…. You – are …. Different.” Mr. Paul spoke in a subtle but earnest tone, one which enthralled young Jasmine.
Philip Dane 