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Updated 2/25/2026
Updated Again 3/13/2026
Updated Again
4/27/2026
Today it occurred. It came out, 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.
Not today…. not this time.
She told herself, spoke into herself….
Those words told her,
‘… that she——
-was writing.
Not holding back.’
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 promised she would do.
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, darkly covered cloud draped sky through the window, the moisture eased about dribbling forth around the bottom edges of the windows’ frame; something made sense in this morning hour, it all came quietly together. She had observed this granular pace, the detail of colors melding with new eyes, envisioned the sky blue light piercing through just prior to entering the classroom.
It was good. This early morning 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, a spirit she began calling up. An emboldened voice which he had always encouraged.
This is what he most wanted. He wanted this for Jasmine and for her housemates, he wanted them to live –
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.
4/18/2026
“Jasmine, when you are free this week, create a story… you have a story in you. Create something.”
Mr. Paul knew that Jasmine was alight, she was revved up and running with a pen that would not quit.
Later that day she returned to her bedroom, climbed in to her top bunk, pulled her notebook from the open bag that held it and -she began writing. The story she began composing was about a young boy(younger than Jasmine even) who wanted to rescue his mother. One day the boy took his mother out for dinner. The mother was hesitant, looked curiously at her son, he plead with insistence and she agreed. “Ok, my boy, what time are we heading out?”
“6 PM mommy…. I will be at the front door, please open it(his pitch rose with this special request).”
“You are someone special, my son.
I’m a lucky mama.”
At 6 o’clock there was a knock, tat-tat-tat. Off they went and this young mother smiled all the way through town.
Jasmine could not wait to share her story with Mr. Paul.
Philip Dane 