by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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Ellie Forster ’24

She was a girlboss millennial, he was a Republican. Can I make it any more obvious?

 

Kate Ward ’23

He put down his pen, hand trembling from the writing and rewriting of words he couldn’t find to describe her. Placing a hand over his heart, he was finally able to find the words, hidden deep within his love.

 

Sarah Heavren ’21

What started as a joke grew into endless joy. It was love at first laugh.

 

Fiona Clarke ’23

John Donne, the man I loved and bit, will go down in history—and I, only as the vehicle for a metaphorical marriage between him and another. And yet—and yet—I contain more multitudes than the blood cells of two lovesick goops—love bites, indeed, but so do fleas.

 

Anna Pomeroy ’23

“He loves me, he loves me not…” the six-year-old girl said as she plucked the petals from the single rose she received from the boy standing in front of her.

 

Grace O’Connor ’22

He rested his hand gently on her back, his thumb rubbing the silk on her dress as he looked into her dark blue eyes. He slowly lifted her face to meet his as he touched her soft lips, feeling calm and terrified all at once.

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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by Mariela Flores ’23

You are not the other half of me.
You are not a better half of me.
You are not a nicer half of me.
You are not a half.  

Love, you are the roots of old pine.
Love, you are a perfect cadence.
Love, you are the spine of my favorite books.
Love, you are the streaks of light that blind me while I drive.
Love, you are the color green.  

How lucky are we, to coexist at the same time, in the same place, in the same life?
How lucky are we to have met each other, lost each other, and found each other again?  

As we grow and move through this timeline I hope just one thing,
you will find me again, wherever we might begin.  

As two wholes, two flames,
you & I. 

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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by Angie Nguyen ’22

falling in love with someone you shouldn’t is like an ending is written before the beginning. you don’t listen to the bells, warning you of the heartbreak and the tears and the way the sparkle in his eyes dulls eventually because you’re so enraptured by the i-love-you’s and the morning kisses and the midnight adventures in his foreign car (a toyota is still foreign to me). we were only running on borrowed time.

how could i be selfish enough to lay claim on your eyes and their haunting depth—the way they changed with your moods. i never realized dark, brown eyes could hold so much feeling until i looked into yours. how could i think that a piece of your heart was reserved for me? that heart is as wild as a stallion, and i thought i’d harnessed you, put you into my stable. how could i even begin to think that laugh was meant for me and only me? you share your joy so effortlessly—i even envy you at times.

i know you said you were mine but that’s like trying to claim the oceans and its waves, the forest and its wolves. the way you move, the way you carry yourself, the way you think—it was never mine, always yours.

i always thought love meant surrender. but i’m so tired of trying to make myself a home in your amazon. i don’t want to be a colonizer of your lands. i cannot confuse breaking you with appreciating you.

but when you tell me you love me, when you kiss me and hold me, for a split second, in this wild world, you are mine.

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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by Taylor Rogers ’24

Cupid’s thin, heart-tipped arrow strikes my skin at approximately 10:00 a.m., attacking me while I was suffering through yet another pointless Zoom call. The sneaky little bastard hit me when I was most vulnerable, as he knew I could not defeat him in my lethargic state. Lazily, my blood falls from the wound on my forearm, staining the precious notes and drawings scattered in my notebook. Thankfully, my fellow classmates and professor are unable to see my distress, nor hear my animalistic cries as I pull the stubborn god’s arrow out of my flesh. Once the arrow is laid on my desk, I find myself drawn to the object, its white coloration one that reassures me that yes, Cupid was the one who shot me, not my roommate who’s been reading The Hunger Games a little too much lately. This sacred arrow has an intricate scrawl lazily written along its base, the Latin impossible for me to understand. Thankfully, Google Translate exists, and I type the words into the search engine, eyes widening at the words’ meaning. “Love will come when unexpected?” I ask myself, too stubborn to attempt to comprehend this confusing meaning. 

The words from the “divine” creature stick in my mind all day, causing me to ponder whether my potential soulmate is currently watching me while I walk around my campus, the snow below my feet making this task difficult to accomplish. His words plague my inner thoughts as I do my laundry, and I can’t help but glance around the empty laundry room, hoping my lover is here at the same time I am. I peek around every corner whenever I walk, hoping to see a pair of eyes that will make butterflies burst from my stomach or a smile that forces gibberish to fall from my chapped lips. As I diligently stare at the words on the paper, I can’t help but glance up from my notes, wondering if my soulmate opted to study in the nearly desolate library as well.  

“What’d you do to your arm?” my roommate inquires as I enter our shared space, their indie music blasting from the tiny blue speaker neither of us could fathom living without. 

“Got shot by Cupid’s arrow,” I bluntly respond, my words causing them to laugh. I take a seat in my precious blue bean bag, then gesture for my roommate to talk, since they most definitely have something to say about my “joke.” 

“What are you, stuck in your Roman mythology phase again? That stuff doesn’t happen in real life,” the stubborn human elects to respond, and I decide not to press him on the whole “soulmate” concept that’s been playing tennis with the other thoughts invading my mind all day. 

“Neither do zombie apocalypses, yet that doesn’t stop you from keeping an apocalypse survival kit stashed under your bed,” I point out, causing them to go silent. They select a new song to listen to. Eerily calm music streams through our plant-filled habitation while we begin slowly reviewing homework for the Zoom classes (for which we happen to pay $60,000). Silence fills the room, then my easily distracted roommate points to something on my desk. “Someone left that for you, by the way.” Curious, I rise from the beanbag, and walk over to the desk, immediately grabbing the small note. The complex calligraphy on this scroll is instantly recognizable, and I grin at the words written. Is this what Cupid meant by unexpected? “I’m gonna go talk to the person who left this for me, I’ll be back,” I assure my roommate, who seems to be too focused on the newest episode of The Walking Dead to pay attention to me. In seconds, I have made it to the elevator, ready to meet the person I’m destined to love forever.  

“Shoot, maybe I just got Rick-rolled,” I realize as the song “Never Gonna Give You Up” blasts from somebody’s dorm room above me. Despite what the note claimed, not a single person is under the biggest oak tree on campus, nor are there any hints of a person in a giant, red hoodie. “I knew this was too good to be true. I guess I was expecting the person to actually show up, which went against what my arrow said anyways,” I say aloud, not caring if anybody spots me talking to myself. As I stand outside, Mother Nature playfully opens the clouds above me, small droplets of snow beginning to litter the ground around me. Cursing, I decide that today isn’t the day I want to get hypothermia, and I begin the brief walk back to my dorm. Each step feels wrong, as if Cupid’s bow is using me as an arrow, slowly drawing me back to the tree where nobody awaits me. However, I resist the tree’s strange pull, my efforts to get away causing me to bump into somebody.  

I expect the heavens to halt, for the snow to suddenly stop falling, but nothing happens. Why did I think the person I collided into was going to be my soulmate? “Sorry,” I curtly say to the person, making eye contact with them briefly. Nothing happens, and I quickly look away from the person, who nods before continuing on their journey. I do the same, still wondering when Cupid’s going to magically work his magic and show me who I’m meant to be with for the rest of my life. The snow around me continues to fall, seeping into my blue, oversized hoodie that adorns my small frame. Yet, for the first time in a while, the cold air doesn’t wrap around me like a blanket. Instead, the snow seems to warm my cool figure, and I glance up at the calm, gray sky above me. As if giving me a thumbs-up of approval, the clouds stop sending snow at me for a second, then continues its merciless storm yet again. 

Instead of returning to my dorm, I decide to wander around my campus, the divine above granting me warmth as I rediscover the school I fell in love with the first time I toured it. Snow artfully falls onto the buildings, dancing to its own music as I begin to do a dance of my own, skipping on the sidewalk and admiring the “gloomy” day nature has presented to me. The blue fades to black as my day goes away, and the rainbow of LED lights streaming from dorm windows begins to light my way down the twist and turns of the sidewalk, making me wonder if my soulmate truly is a person. With a smile on my face, I decide to slowly head back to my dorm, not wanting to leave the comforting embrace of the world around me. Snow joins me on the walk down the path, and I know this won’t be the last time I fall in love with Earth’s wonderful gifts. I find myself cured of the soulmate dilemma that threatened to destroy me earlier.

 

 

 

 

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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Creative Non-Fiction

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by Anna Pomeroy ’23

Valentine’s Day is kind of an odd day. You see, it’s hard to celebrate a day of being in love when you aren’t with anyone. And while the constant reminders of sappy love notes scrawled across cards and rose petals fallen behind the path of lovebirds walking becomes excessive, I can’t help but acknowledge the true meaning behind this holiday. It’s not about admitting that you are in love, but that you have the experience of love within and around your own being. Just because I am not currently with someone does not mean that I do not recognize love. I love my family, my friends—more specifically my friends’ smiles, their ability to belt out songs together in the car without judgement, their warm hugs, and how I can just give them a look across the room and we’ll burst out laughing. In terms of my family, their love shines down on me through their reassuring words. Moreover, I’ll always remember the small gestures. Like how my parents would always show up to every game of mine when I was a child—even my grandparents would somehow make it—and when they’d sit through the two-hour long dance recitals in which I was only present for a single number. These qualities stand as reminders that Valentine’s Day is not about who you are in love with, but how you express your love and experience it throughout life. Even without a significant other on this special day, the stars will still shine at night and the flowers will still bloom. The natural beauties of life will continue. Let’s not allow this day to define how someone can celebrate love entirely.

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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I love waking up every morning to the FriarAlert Daily Screening emails, but I’d rather wake up with you ;)

-Lovesick

 

Real good with a Q-tip. 

-24 Self-administered COVID Tests

 

Consistently testing negative but I have a positive attitude and a dog. I’m also tall, if that helps.

-The Swab Master

 

I love iced coffee, all things pink and orange, and whipped cream. Hit me up if you like your coffee tall, dark, and sweet ;)

-Duncan

 

Big nose, bigger heart. I like my men the way I like my beer: cold, bitter, and headless. 

-Just a Widow, Baby

 

If this doesn’t go well, I will probably write a poem about you.

-Wannabe Poet in Need of Content

 

I used to root for the Knicks, but now I’m ready to settle down and get that ring.

-Committed Carl

 

Basic girl looking for a basic guy. Gotta be able to play catch, so I can catch these feelings for you.

-2 good 4 you 

 

Looking for someone to fill my lonely nights now that Dot is gone.

-Ray the Romantic

 

Ardently searching for a woman who is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me.

-Bachelor with a Considerable Means and Estate

 

Looking for someone to recite lines from Step Brothers with me.

-Nighthawk

 

Looking for someone who can keep up with my craziness and who can eat a whole pizza with me.

-PizzaLover14

 

Do you like bad girls? ’Cause I’m bad at everything :)

-The Least Talented Person You’ll Ever Meet

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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by Future Cat Lady

It has been 257 days since I last felt the touch of another human being. I am not sure how much longer I can withstand this. My army of Pillow Pets that I sleep next to every night no longer brings me joy, but is a constant reminder of my ever-increasing loneliness.

 

Yesterday, I watched Pride and Prejudice and nearly sobbed at the scene in which Mr. Darcy helps Elizabeth out of the carriage. I was so affected by their brief touch that I watched HandHoldHub for four hours straight. Oh, how I yearn to grasp another’s hand, feel the grooves of their fingertips, the pulse lightly beating in their thumb! I was haunted by images of hand-holding throughout the night, and I could have sworn that when I awoke, I felt the comforting presence of a hand in mine. Alas, it was my bumble bee Pillow Pet. 

 

Next week I have my annual checkup, and I am counting down the moments to it. I keep picturing the cold stethoscope next to my chest. My heart palpitates at the very thought. I wonder if my doctor has been feeling the same way, or if I will need to disguise my trembling.

 

Maybe I should get a cat.

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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Dear Tiff & Earl,

It’s me again. Turns out we’re both positive—positively lovesick. We’re quarantined in the Marriott together, and his room is right beside mine. The walls are paper-thin. Tensions are growing—and so is my COVID viral load. Should I learn Morse code to communicate my desires?

Sincerely,
Caught Feelings (and COVID)

Dear Catchy Feely,

Just remember that you’re feverish for reasons other than your feelings for this guy. If you want to try learning Morse code, then go for it, but there might be slightly less cryptic ways of going about it. If the walls are paper-thin, you might as well go all in and have a full-on conversation. Keep it light and play on the fact that you’re sharing a common experience. If you profess your love too soon, you could risk scaring the COVID out of him and lose him to the outside world. Use your time in isolation to plan carefully. Maybe even recite some Romeo and Juliet “for Civ” if you’re feeling daring.

Avoiding contactly,
Tiff

Dear Caught Feelings,

Happy to hear things are progressing between you two! While Morse code may sound romantic, I recommend literally not even talking to him. He’s not worth it, queen. Rest up, eat the Sodexo food, stay COVID-free, and get back to campus as soon as you can. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Definitely not hurt beforably,
Earl

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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Forgot to wipe

Didn’t show up

Brought your mom as a chaperone

Talked about your 12 cats

Mentioned the spider that whispers sweet nothings into your ear

Confessed your love for Father Shanley

Knew too much personal information

Asked for their banner ID instead of their phone number

Communicated solely via PC Mobile

Thought they resembled Mitch McConnell

Said they smell like your mom

Brought your date home to your Lightning McQueen race car bed

Ordered off the kid’s menu

Dined and dashed

Ordered chocolate milk at the bar

Brought your guitar (and already wrote a song about them)

Said “I love you”

Asked them to be your entree à la Armie Hammer

by Connor Zimmerman on February 14, 2020

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by Kate Ward ’23

“I got you a present.” His voice was muffled, one hand pressed against the glass, the other behind his back. 

I took off my mask and looked at him intently. “If it’s another mask I’m going to be mad.” I laughed a little. It had been sixteen years since the initial outbreak of the flu and nearly every house on the street had been ordered to put glass around the perimeter of the property. My next-door neighbor Michael and I had become infected at relatively the same time. I caught it first after being hospitalized for a nasty case of the flu. I got out right before Valentine’s Day, and that was when we went on a date. I kissed him, things advanced, and two weeks later he was sick. Let me tell you, fostering romance while sick is an entirely new challenge within itself. I watched through the glass as he took a box out from behind him; it was one of those heart-shaped chocolate boxes. 

“You do know that there’s no way for me to get those, right?” I laughed a little.

“Yes, I do know that, so I’m just going to show them to you.” He chuckled. “No, I’m kidding, I’m going to find a way to give them to you. Here, back up.” 

I took a few steps away from the glass and looked up at where the small air hole was. The air hole was something that the government had decided to put in the ceiling of the glass to make sure we had some way of getting fresh air without spreading the disease. Michael stepped back and then began to run at the glass, jumping and hurling the box through his air hole and into mine. I watched as the chocolate box fell open, pill bottles tumbling out from the inside. 

Gasping as a few clattered onto my head, I whirled to look at him.“Are you kidding me, Michael?”

He was doubled over, laughing loudly as he watched the expression on my face change from shock and horror to anger. 

“What? Come on, I thought it was funny! Why can’t I make jokes about our sickness, huh?” he asked, pressing his hands up to the glass. 

“You think this,” I held up a prescription bottle and flung it at the glass, “is funny?! Do you think this is a proper Valentine’s gift?” I cried. 

“Look inside the bottles,” he said, now more serious.

I shook my head and bent down, picking up one of the orange bottles, unscrewing the cap. Inside there were three tightly rolled pieces of paper. 

“They’re letters,” Michael explained as I went around and collected the rest of the bottles, some already broken open. 

I was quiet for a moment, trying to find the words and the courage to say what I wanted to say. I opened one letter and glanced over it. “This is from our first date.” I picked up another. “And this is from our last.” I looked at him. He nodded and smiled sheepishly. 

“I thought it was a nice idea, I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid,” Michael murmured, his breath fogging up the glass.

“No! No, it isn’t a stupid idea, I mean, at least you got me something. Last Valentine’s Day all I got you was sick with this virus.” I tried to lighten the mood.

Michael chuckled. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The slightly dark and oddly cute sentence caught me off guard. This man was willing to be trapped in a glass cage for the remainder of his life if it meant seeing me each day. 

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered.

“You’re going to have to speak up; the glass is thick,” he said, pointing to his ears for further clarification.

“I—never mind.” I shook my head. “It was a stupid thought!” Stupid to bring something like that up on a day like today. 

Michael waited patiently, looking at me in case I wanted to say something further. I shook my head again. “I don’t have anything to say, so quit looking at me like that, will you?”

“You know, I was thinking about, like… do you remember back in 2020 when people still used that term ship? I was thinking about our ship name.” He had this stupid yet adorable grin on his face. 

I lifted a brow. “Oh? What might that be?”

He wrung his hands. “I don’t know if I should tell you judging by your reaction to the gift.”

“You can’t just bring it up and not say it!” I cried, pointing at him. 

He put his hands up in surrender, our eyes locking as I watched him try to figure out his next move. “Our ship name isn’t a joining of our names but more like our current… predicament. It’s Fluromance.” Michael grinned. 

I sighed. Flu Romance, of course he would think of something that stupid yet somewhat witty.