The steel “57” still hung, lonely, on the small black mailbox. Chipped layered colors on the lopsided porch revealed the hundreds of projects my grandmother was always invested in. The old house’s entrance would always sing, with the windchimes guiding its breath. A trail of pinkish cat prints and an etching of my mother’s name still lay on the bare white railing. However, there is a trick—to get in the house almost as old as the town, the door requires a knowledge of its unique way. Almost as if it doesn’t want to let you in.
I currently live and go to school in New Paltz, New York. Writing and reading have always been passions of mine, and from the time I could form sentences I wrote creative pieces about anything and everything. I created a collection of poetry in middle school and have hundreds of finished and unfinished pieces that I’ve worked on. Through my characters and stories (no matter how dark they may be), I always find comfort and grounding within my life.