At The End of an Era

Today I asked my teacher, how the end of an era is determined. She didn’t have much of an answer for me, except that, an era is over when a new one begins. but that just conjures another question: How do you determine the beginning of an era? 

Looking back, you can recall the dawn and denouement of a phase, but in the moment everything meshes together. There’s no distinct second that everything changes for the better or worse.

The thing is, I need to know when an era should end. If I’m in control, when do I end it? Is there room for change or improvement, or would that just signal the beginning of a new era? 

If there’s a sign, I’ll take it. No, scratch that. I need it.

When has an era occurred for too long? 

I want to alter the era without ending it. 

I want to linger here, 

forever.

Longing for the right termination of

whenever, 

whoever, 

whatever this is. 

At the end of an era do we fall apart, or simply get stronger?

Either help me replenish this era, or help me destroy it. 

(Author & Photography by Angelina Zaphyria)

Poems About My Missed Connections

1.

When I think about everything I could have done differently 

I realize I haven’t lost you

because i never had you to begin 

Maybe one day ill have the chance to really lose you.

or maybe you’ll lose me.

or maybe you already have.

it’s a thought,

but not a reality.

You’ll always have me somewhat.

2.

He made us iced coffee.

I poured his cream and he poured mine.

We went Dutch at the diner.

“You two think alike” said the waitress in white

We smiled.

Or maybe it was only me who smiled

3.

we all lay in the meadow.

we listen to The Beatles,

And talk about Lennon’s lows.

He’s a jealous guy.

Well I’m a jealous girl.

“I wanna hold your hand”

“I’ve just seen a face”

“Baby it’s you”

we sing the sha-la-la’s together.

you whisper to me that he doesn’t love you.

I tell you to indulge in the unattainable 

Im in love with the fact that I don’t fully have him, I think I always have been.

And even when I do find myself wanting him entirely

I remember: I am trying not to hurt anyone.

This marks the start of summer. 

4.

What is it with April?

It seems to be a staple 

my maple turns to syrup

Sappy and unstable

I pinched myself 

In park slope

I wasn’t dreaming 

I think there’s hope

(Author & Photography by Angelina Zaphyria)