There was a boy sitting by himself on the curb. Middle schoolers huddled in groups of three and six and five all around him. He, by himself, with a bruise on his face. I could see it clearly, as clearly as I saw the loose flannel shirt tails flapping in the cold weather. I could see the bruise on his face as clearly as I could see his solitary existence. I did not have to wonder very long how he got that bruise on his face. Cleveland may be prettily dressed, but she has her closets and pockets of secrets. He is one, a well kept one, though, since no one around gave him the attention he needed.

I wanted to stop, but I was late for work.

I am searching for an inexpensive flight. I need one from one place (here) to another place (there). There are not very many options and all of them are priced in the range which puts a lump in my throat. I find one for $213 dollars, but it is to Rome, Italy, and that is not my destination.

I long for the day, and wonder if it will ever come, when I can pay for a ticket to Rome, Italy, just because it's cheap and I've never been.

I have been looking into possible job opportunities for the summer. Should it be Boulder, Colorado? Or Chattanooga, Tennessee? Or Pheonix, Arizona? Or Potsdam, New York. I stumble across internship opportunities in Jamestown, Williamsburg, and Boston. Suddenly the world is mine and I can do whatever I want to do. Suddenly I am 25 years old and younger and more carefree than I've ever been before.

What is it, then, that holds me back?

What is it, then, that holds me back?