FROM: RC_WRITER TO: FRAN_UN-SEEN@GMAIL.COM (WED. 9/29/10 1:06PM)
Patience, everything is for a reason. This person- your embodiment of the sun, how do you view that person?
-Ray
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My embodiment of the sun no longer existed, all I saw was my mom. All I saw in my mind was a thirty second blurry low quality video, of her smiling and laughing with all the beauty and elegance of the sun. A wave of guilt crashed into me and washed me away. It got harder and harder to remember her every year, what she looked like, what she sounded like. What kind of daughter was I not to remember my own mother?
FROM: FRAN_UN-SEEN TO: RC_WRITER@HOTMAIL.COM (WED. 9/29/10 1:07AM)
She’s wonderful. Amazing. She’d leave you stunned for a lifetime.
-Francine
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So there was someone. Or was she really just envisioning a person that she imagined? I wasn’t sure anymore. I wanted to ask but even if I did I don’t believe she’d tell me the truth. She made it very clear she didn’t want me asking her personal questions. Regardless I had to continue with my lesson.
FROM: RC_WRITER TO: FRAN_UN-SEEN@GMAIL.COM (WED. 9/29/10 1:09PM)
Now this person that is the sun, place him in Shakespeare’s sonnet 18, make the sun represent a summer’s day. And then tell me what you think of the young man afterwards.
-Ray
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I tried to recall the sun in Shakespeare’s sonnet 18. And summer’s lease hath all too short a date… Sometimes to hot the eye of heaven shines… And often his gold complexion dimm’d … and even fair from fair declines… But the eternal summer shall not fade. I translated each line in my head. The sun’s presence is far too short. I agree with that all too well, I though as I felt my heart throb with pain. But putting my mother, who was so radiant and vibrant in the rest of Shakespeare’s sonnet seemed impossible. My sun- my mom being overbearing shining too bright for my eyes, my mom her brightness fading from my memories. But this man Shakespeare was writing about had none of my mo- my sun’s flaws. This man he was describing was perfect, never fading away, never being too much but never being too little. This man didn’t exist.
Patience, everything is for a reason. This person- your embodiment of the sun, how do you view that person?
-Ray
______________________________________________________________________________
My embodiment of the sun no longer existed, all I saw was my mom. All I saw in my mind was a thirty second blurry low quality video, of her smiling and laughing with all the beauty and elegance of the sun. A wave of guilt crashed into me and washed me away. It got harder and harder to remember her every year, what she looked like, what she sounded like. What kind of daughter was I not to remember my own mother?
FROM: FRAN_UN-SEEN TO: RC_WRITER@HOTMAIL.COM (WED. 9/29/10 1:07AM)
She’s wonderful. Amazing. She’d leave you stunned for a lifetime.
-Francine
______________________________________________________________________________
So there was someone. Or was she really just envisioning a person that she imagined? I wasn’t sure anymore. I wanted to ask but even if I did I don’t believe she’d tell me the truth. She made it very clear she didn’t want me asking her personal questions. Regardless I had to continue with my lesson.
FROM: RC_WRITER TO: FRAN_UN-SEEN@GMAIL.COM (WED. 9/29/10 1:09PM)
Now this person that is the sun, place him in Shakespeare’s sonnet 18, make the sun represent a summer’s day. And then tell me what you think of the young man afterwards.
-Ray
_____________________________________________________________________________
I tried to recall the sun in Shakespeare’s sonnet 18. And summer’s lease hath all too short a date… Sometimes to hot the eye of heaven shines… And often his gold complexion dimm’d … and even fair from fair declines… But the eternal summer shall not fade. I translated each line in my head. The sun’s presence is far too short. I agree with that all too well, I though as I felt my heart throb with pain. But putting my mother, who was so radiant and vibrant in the rest of Shakespeare’s sonnet seemed impossible. My sun- my mom being overbearing shining too bright for my eyes, my mom her brightness fading from my memories. But this man Shakespeare was writing about had none of my mo- my sun’s flaws. This man he was describing was perfect, never fading away, never being too much but never being too little. This man didn’t exist.
