#cnf

La massima espressione del Potere è il Silenzio...

... quello che ti permette di osservare serpenti comportarsi da esseri umani.

🛋️ Lamp Lit 1.4 Spring 2026 is Live at LampLit.net! 🛋️ Thank you to Lamp Lit 1.4 Contributors:

Jennifer Badot

Rachael Bull 

Polly Conway 

Zoë Davis 

Lisa Delan 

Joe Ducato 

Yoonji Huh

Mindy Kober 

Katie Larson  @iamktb14

DS Maolalai 

Kiana McCrackin 

EK Ottenritter 

Kathleen Palmer 

Nina Prater 

Esther Sadoff 

Alexis Tinker-Tsavalas

Today, November 11, 2025, marks the 20th anniversary of the November 11, 2005 episode of Fridays.

Action-by-inaction.

Unsent

I type the message. I reread it. Once. Twice. My eyes roam over the words again and again until they don’t even seem like words at all. I second-guess myself, finger hovering over the delete button for multiple seconds. I hold it down, slowly getting rid of everything. Nothing eases my mind. I still feel exposed. The conversation ends before it even begins. I close my laptop with a deep sigh and lie down in my bed. I dream of a reply to my very hesitation, mocking me. You’re so indecisive that it makes your sister look firm. The tone was taunting, comparing me to someone who can’t decide where to eat. Hours later I awake, unsure if the reply was real. The room continues as normal, but my chest still feels tight as I think about it. I glance over at my laptop sitting closed on my nightstand. My hand faintly brushes over the cold metal. I leave it there, telling myself that one day I’ll muster up the courage to hit send.

Warning: religious themes, rough draft

            One step forward, one step back, twirl, and dip. Repeat. Hand in hand, arm around my waist, hand comfortably on my lower back—he’s pulling me in. He’s looking at me, I’ll look at my feet. Don’t let me step on his feet. Step forward, step back. Now he’s pushing me away only to beckon me to spin into his arms, I’m against his chest! I knew I’d fall. It was inevitable. I’ve always been a sucker for a patient guiding hand and a man that can dance. Damn the love stories, I cry everytime.

            What’s worse—or probably in my favor—is I wasn’t even in a vulnerable state, I wasn’t in need of a hero, and I had no complex. Here he was, asking if I was comfortable and asking if I needed a breather. The month of love is upon us and—damn it!--the only thing I could smell were roses. 

            Steak dinners, aisles of chocolate, and crushes around every corner. Who likes steak, anyway? Chicken is where it’s at and now I’ve told him. Now I’ve told our friends, and they say we look good together. My momma didn’t raise me like this. 

            “Y’all make a pretty picture.”

            I’m not photogenic.

            “He likes the outdoors.”

            I hate camping. 

            “He’s a Godly man. God fearing.”

            I was raised with worldly ideas.

            He won’t like me, I assure you. My smile is wide and abrasive, just like me. I’m inconsiderate of others, I’m self-serving. I want to be rich one day; I want to hoard it all like a dragon with their treasure, and I won’t spare a cent to the needy. My role model is Ebenezer Scrooge. I’m unusually cruel with the manipulation tactics of Machiavelli. I wasn’t made to settle down with a family, I was made to step on the backs of those less fortunate. I was made to be of the world. I wasn’t made to raise children. 

            And yet. 

            Something is changing. Something in me has found hope. And familiarity. And suddenly, I am the grinch at the end of his story with a heart that is growing three sizes. I can’t contain the adoration; I can’t contain the desire to serve. This---I fear—has been a long time coming. 

            God’s Plan.

            Mentors tell me to role with it. Allow whatever happens to happen. I can’t plan six steps ahead because to follow God’s will I have to let his seven steps happen. Now I have to have patience. Now I have to have faith. That’s the crux of the issue. The issue was never that I was beginning to like someone, it was that God was showing me that I was capable of liking someone. God has shown me I’m capable of yearning for someone and I’m capable of wanting good things. 

            If I’m capable of wanting good things, then to earn them I must first be capable of giving good things. This moment of revelation caught me by surprise but not because I’ve ever been incapable—no, I’ve found myself overcome with that need to serve again. 

I see her in the sunshine

She wakes me up and her hand is there

Outstretched to me with the warmth she radiates

In contrast to my broken heart

I take it. Of course I do.

Her resting place is a patch of grass

On top of the burning star

That we race around endlessly

The million degrees of fire and heat can’t touch her

They wouldn’t dare.

She visits me in dreams

In the place my mind returns to so often

I see her on the swing furthest north

And her ghost remains.

She comforts me when I unintentionally hurt a friend

She laughs with me until we cry in the back of a crowded room

She’s never anything but kind.

I cross paths with her occasionally

And she stands there beaming

Happy to see me and happy to be.

She leads me to her little garden on the sun

And flowers bloom where her feet grace the ground

Strands of her hair are woven into careful braids

And cascade down her back in the blinding light

We sit and talk of summertime and loneliness

And all the things she’ll never get to do.

She apologizes for leaving and I suppose it’s okay

A chance to walk in the stars

And bring life to desolate flames

Is a destiny that only she could deserve.

I watch the sun disappear into the earth as she did