The Past Reimagined

Beyond

J. Connor

I used to think the past was something fixed. Memories pressed into place like dried flowers between old book pages. But when I look back now, it feels softer, like something I can reshape with my own hands. I revisit the moments that once felt heavy, the ones I carried like stones in my pockets, and I imagine them differently. Not perfect, not erased, just understood.

Maybe the past isn't supposed to trap me. Maybe it's supposed to teach me. I take the versions of myself I used to avoid the hurt one, the quiet one, the one who didn't know any better and I give them space to breathe, I let them grow into something new.

Reimagining my past doesn't mean changing what happened. It means seeing it with the eyes I have now, eyes that know healing is possible, and that even the smallest, most painful memories can turn into strength. The past is still there, but it doesn't define me anymore. I define it.

Music

T.M.

I am 5 singing church songs in a children's choir. 

I am 7 with handbells, I do not know I am out of place; I am younger by 40 years.

I am reading symphonies before short stories.

I am driving my parents crazy, leaving teeth marks on a whistley recorder.

It is 8 when I assemble myself for the first time; connecting mouth piece to neck to body.

I am 9 in concert black. On stage for the first time. Bright lights. Breath held.

At 12 the only logical time to practice is after the street lights came on and stars come out. For a loud instrument I am good at playing quite.

I am 13, I am no longer a solo but a duet. Soprano and Cello, an unlikely match but the best of friends. We learn to count, to hear what each other hears. The only time we see each other is on stage.

I am 14 our duet has become a trio. Walking on stage we laugh at my loud heels. I am happy.

The curtains close and it is the last time I perform.

I am 15 working out life's problems with music ever complex. Fingers flying, tongue articulating notes like they are the cause. Revisiting measures as I revisit moments. I play angry and I play well. 

I turn 16 as my case collects dust. 

A random performance. An encore. I am  unprepared. I play well. 

I change my mind at 17. Playing is a drug. Hours into the night. Binders filled with music. I am a fermata, holding on to my last performance even when it is over. 

I am 18. 

I play. 

I do not perform for anyone. 

I do not have to perform to be a musician. 

Maybe I was not great at 9 or 14 or 16. 

I am not great at 18. 

I will not be great at 40.

Maybe I was just a quiet kid, with a loud instrument. Learning to speak with song.

Just listen to this piece of wood sing.

Final Dance

A. Tsamalaidze

I looked death in the eyes 

Unable to find life 

Her cold gaze didn’t terrify 

But what was underneath 

A little girl trying to scream 

But nobody could hear 

As we danced our worries away 

I took a breath 

“Everything will be okay” She said 

Fading off in the air 

Leaving me alone with myself 

I thought about her beauty 

The ugliness she brings

At that moment my heart stopped racing 

And I forever went to sleep 

My Story

A. Viloria

Walking into school - happy like my usual

Could feel it in my gut- I felt something unusual

I tried to brush it off - but still something felt off

I went to do my check-I walked around the halls

Came around the corner- I had to take a pause

In my brothers face- this person must be lost

I couldn't stand there watching-seeing what I saw

I had to be a brother-protect my little brother

Got into a fight-threw one punch and another

Went right back to class-I spoke began to stutter

Gut feeling came back-its weird I felt another

Little did I know-that later I would suffer

The Little Things

J. Dashevsky

Life’s gentle breeze, a whispered song,

In every sunrise, a feeling so strong.

Friends and family, love so true,

Embracing moments, old and new.

Adventures calling, whispers in the breeze,

Nature’s beauty, rushing through the trees.

Laughing freely, straight from the heart,

Unspoken poetry right from the start.

The warmth of love, a guiding light,

Burning brightly in the night.

Friendship’s bond, a gold chain,

Washing away the hurt and pain.

Standing tall when shadows loom,

Planting flowers that brightly bloom.

The feeling of rain upon my face,

Finding beauty in every place. 

Every breath, a chance to be,

All that I am, completely me.

Enjoying the journey step by step,

Believing that my dreams will happen yet.

Moments of joy, moments of fear

Making me stronger, year after year.

The strength to face what lies ahead,

Embracing life instead of dread.

Everyone deserves to smile,

Existing with their own style.

A simple shell upon the shore,

Always wanting to explore.

The kindest words that are softly spoken,

Never letting my heart be broken.

New beginnings, fresh and clean,

Never let these dreams be unseen.

L. Bradley