Home?

I yearn for a place where the sky never ends
Where golden-green hills roll out over the horizon
Where bird calls fill the air and trees scatter the plains
A place I can call home.

I ache for the days full of people and noises
Where artificial stars fill the night sky
Where someone is always awake and never far away
A place I can call home.

I crave the taste of salt on my tongue
Where blue meets blue along the skyline
Where I can hear and feel the crashes of waves against the sand
A place I can call home.

I itch for rough sheets and stiff muscles from the road
Where each night I find myself staying somewhere new
Where each day is an adventure, no end in sight
A place I can call home.

I long for the days when rain patters against the window
Where I can fall asleep to the lullaby of thunder and lightning
Where I wake up to the sun shining warm on my skin
A place I can call home.

I pine for somewhere far away from everything I know
Where wildflowers grow loved and free as they wish
Where I might find a fairy ring or gold at the end of the rainbow
A place I can call home.

I fantasize about soft voices welcoming me in
Where warm embraces ease my sorrows and my pain
Where gentle touches ground me and hold me together tightly
A place where
        no matter where I am
                I can say
                        "Hello,
                               I'm home."

Memento Mori?

 Quinque vitae. Memento mori.

A warrior. A teacher. A protector.
A doubter who abandoned. Wandering aimlessly.
A friend. A guardian. A failure.
A love so strong it only destroyed. Ripped apart.

Quattor vitam. Memento mori.

A daughter. A niece. A sister.
A student who left to learn the Old Ways. Crippling rage.
A mother. A lover. A bitter priestess.
A creature both more and less than human. Goddess of a grey people.

Tribus animabus. Memento mori.

A servant. A poor boy. A shadow.
A man of few words. Kept out of sight.
A friend. A mentor. A watcher.
A whisper on the sidelines. Barely noticed.

Duae vitae. Memento mori.

A myth. A fairytale. A story.
A secret hidden in the forest. Rings of toadstools.
A collector. A speck. A petty thing.
A tale forgotten over time. Insignificant creatures.

Unum anima. Memento mori.

A child. A collection. A meeting point.
A mixture of everything past. Crushed under the weight.
A chance. A restart. A new beginning.
A host of old souls. Both stronger and weaker for it.

Nulla vitae.

Memento mori?

Mors memor sit tui.

Finis?

 

Originally written 13/11/20.

Wishful Thinking

Is it wishful thinking
To want you always near?
Is it so horrible to want,
To wish you were always here?

Maybe I'm dreaming,
Maybe I've finally gone crazy,
But when I can't hear your voice
My train of thought goes hazy,

And I can't think straight
Without you near me,
Just stay close
And stay here with me.

I can't think straight without you,
Maybe that's unhealthy or sad,
But when you're by my side,
There's so much more to be had.

I could learn to live without you,
Without your voice or your touch,
But the fact is I don't want to live without you,
Maybe I just love you too much.

Ltc. John Laurens & Mg. Alexander Hamilton - Their Relationship as Interpreted by a Queer Youth

This post doesn't exactly follow the structure of this blog as a whole, but it is a blog about my creative writings and surely any writing is creative if it is writing about one's passion?

It has always been a mission of mine, to see things below the surface, but in some cases, you do not need to look far below the surface of something to see its true nature, you just need to keep an open mind. Here I shall aim to open your mind to the possibilities.

In this post, I shall be revisiting my passion for Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens and Major General Alexander Hamilton, two men who faced the American Revolution with a lust for victory. These two men were almost certainly in a romantic relationship that while was overlooked during their time (as social courtesies were much different to that of today), become much more apparent while looking at them from a modern view.

The lives of Laurens and Hamilton, since my discovery of them through Lin-Manuel Miranda's 2015 Broadway musical Hamilton: An American Musical, have become special to me and the more I read about them, their lives, their work and their relationships - both with each other and throughout the rest of their lives - the more interested I become and the more invested I become in finding out more about them.

As I am a young Australian I do not have the ability to travel to New York, South Carolina, Valley Forge or any of the other places they stood, fought, and loved, but one day I aspire to write of these two not just as the closest of friends that they definitely were, but as the lovers they were as well. Laurens, especially, and his life and loves are very dear to me for reasons I cannot completely comprehend or ever hope to explain.

This post, in particular, may be short in its content but I still hope to inspire some readers to perhaps read more about these men and their lives.

I will be the first to admit that in the cases of these two men we shall never truly know the truth of the lives these people lived, until time travel is invented and we can talk to them ourselves, but here I aim to give you nothing but the facts - and the facts are unquestionable.

Laurens and Hamilton were best friends who met in General George Washington's camp at the beginning of the revolution. Both had been hired by Gen. Washington as aides-de-camp - Hamilton out of King's College (now Columbia University), and Laurens out of South Carolina.

Laurens was Hamilton's senior by either a few months or not quite three years (Hamilton's birthdate is a topic of discussion), and both were members of General Washington's "family", a close circle of aides-de-camp whom Gen. Washington regarded with high respect and familial affection. The letters between and about the two spoke about their intense friendship, and Hamilton biographer Ron Chernow noted that "More than any friend that Hamilton ever had, Laurens was his peer, and the two were long paired in the fond memories of many who fought in the Revolution."

The letters that Hamilton wrote to Laurens are filled with unbridled affection towards Laurens, almost to the extent of romantic poetry. Laurens left Washington's camp in 1779 to join the camps in South Carolina, Laurens' birth state, with the hopes of creating an all-black battalion to help fight against the British. In April of 1779 (while Laurens was in South Carolina), Hamilton wrote to Laurens:

Cold in my professions, warm in [my] friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it m[ight] be in my power, by action rather than words, [to] convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that 'till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You sh[ould] not have taken advantage of my sensibility to ste[al] into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into [me].

It is this affection that has led many biographers to question the relationship between the two, and this affection that has led many, including myself, to conclude that there was a romantic relationship between the two - or at least, a romantic inclination from Hamilton to Laurens.

Laurens' previous relationship with Francis Kinloch ended in nothing but an emotional disaster for Laurens and left him with trust issues or a fear of such attachment. Laurens' returned letters to Hamilton were more proper than Hamilton's, yet nonetheless, he had the same affection for his friend.

Hamilton no doubt had great affections for his friend that were quite intimate beyond that of friendship and many people commented on the close bond between the two. After Laurens' death, it was noted by many that Hamilton never had such a close relationship with anyone ever again - including that of his wife.




Sources:
Letters

The Name of the Game

Throw the die and see
What the game has in store for me;
Throw the die and know
What the game will show.

Deal the cards and see
The world's plan for me;
Deal the cards and know
What I play in the world's show.

Spin the wheel and see
Where the spin ends for me;
Spin the wheel and know
How my game will flow.

For that's the name of the game,
Full of fortune and fame;
That's the name of the game
And the game is mine to tame.

Don Thy Armour With Thy Beauty and Grace

Don thy armour with thy beauty and grace,
That thou hast and holds no fear in showing.
Lift thy chin high and let them see thy face,
Let thy beauty shine through their bravoing.

Some see not armour but I see as such;
See thine face painted and delicate curls
Meticulously placed and organised;
May all bow as they see thine grace unfurl.

I see thy bravery behind thine eyes,
I see a hardened soul behind soft silk.
I see how thou holds thy shoulders hard set
And how thou does not fear those not of your ilk.

Forevermore shall I bow to thine hand
For you are my life and my life is grand.

Summertime Blues - Beginning Anew (Feli)

No. No more. She couldn’t stand it any longer. This was the last horrible day at school she was going to put up with, the last day at home with her awful parents and older brother. There was no way in hell she was going to put up with it anymore. No more “Boys can’t be victims of abuse” bull.

I’m not a boy! Feli wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and throw things around the room and tear her bookshelf down, but at the same time she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry until she died of dehydration.

She took a deep breath, setting her shoulders. Now was not the time for this. She pulled a backpack out from under her bed and started packing clothes into it. She was leaving, and she was leaving now. She didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to what she was packing, she was just packing. Anger welled up inside her. Hiding her bag under the bed again, she stepped out of her room, nearly running into her brother.

He sneered at her. “Watch it, Felix,” he said, shoving her into the doorframe. She winced as her shoulder blade collided with the corner. “One day you might just get hurt.” He stalked off, walking with a royal swagger that made her want to hurl.

Gritting her teeth against a snarky retort that would probably get her hospitalised, she moved into the bathroom, gently closing and locking the door behind her. Once inside, she started packing a few things in there, too. She blinked back tears. Now was not the time to cry. Grrr, I hate them, she thought angrily.

She pressed her ear up to the door. Nobody was there. Good. She slipped outside and back into her room, stowing the bag of essentials in there. Her wallet was nearly empty, but there was probably enough for a bus. Feli wasn’t sure where she’d go; she just knew that she had to get out of there.

“Felix!” her father hollered, making Feli jump. She swallowed, composing herself and gathering her courage, and went out to meet him. He was sprawled on the lounge, empty beer cans and bottles and god knows what else surrounding him. Some gory movie was playing on the television.

Her mother noticed her coming in from where she was packing cans into the fridge. “There’s a letter for you,” she said, her voice flat and plain. She gestured towards the table, where letters were littered across the scratched wooden surface. Confused, Feli went over and picked one up.

Felix Wright, the swirly handwriting said in black ink, followed by her address. Feli flipped it over and saw that the envelope was shut with a golden wax seal in the shape of the sun. Feli noticed how old-fashioned it appeared.

She thanked her mother and went back to her bedroom, where she carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.

Dear Feli, it said in the same handwriting,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been invited to attend Summertime School, a getaway school for those in need.

Summertime School offers a fresh start for those who have been struggling with their lives and need a helping hand in which direction to go, or those who are in unsafe home situations and need the opportunity to get away. We send out personal invites to those we believe are in dire need to start anew, and we believe that you are one of those people.

Feli, we are aware of your unfortunate situation at home, and we believe it best if you do not mention this to your parents. Please tell your parents that you are going to visit a friend, someone you trust, and call them if need be. Catch the 4 PM bus to the following location – a friend will be waiting for you. Good luck.

Best wishes,

Aaliyah Maze
Deputy Headmistress

Feli was grinning by the time she’d finished the letter. She’d heard of the mysterious school: nobody that didn’t attend it knew where it was, as it was a secret carried to the grave. She’d known someone a long time ago that was pulled out of his old school and started attending Summertime. The envelope his invitation had come in was a perfect match to the one she held in her hand. Even though they were still close friends – in fact, she considered him a brother – he’d never revealed where the school was.

Now she was going to find out for herself. She put the letter in her backpack and swung it over her shoulder and pulled her beanie over her head. Gathering up all the remaining courage she had, she walked as quietly as she could towards the door.

When questioned by her terrifying father and placid mother, she did as the letter had said to do and told them that she was spending the afternoon with a friend. Her father was too drunk to ask more questions and her mother did whatever he asked, drunk or no.

She had to run to catch the bus in time. It was empty except for one person wearing a very familiar brown hoodie…

“Ky!” she exclaimed, and her friend stood up from his seat. Feli ran over and hugged him tightly, and he returned the favour with one of his bear hugs. Feli tried not to cry with joy.

Pulling away, she looked at him. “You’ve gotten taller!” she laughed.

Kyle laughed with her. “I missed you too, Feli,” he said, patting her head. “How’s my favourite gamer girl?”

Feli’s smile fell. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Kyle just sighed and kissed her on the forehead, dragging her to a seat. The bus started to move, and he told her everything about Summertime and what happened there, the things he’s done, the people he’s met. Some things she remembered from past tales, but other things were new.

It was a long drive to the school, and eventually Feli fell asleep against her friend’s chest.

// Written May 2017 for a currently discontinued series.