..love, Riley

..love, Riley

I am nothing but the words I put on paper, I’ve realized. It’s a valuable thing to me. I find value in other people’s words, even if they aren’t seen as important to the the person who wrote them.

I went to an antique store in town the other day, searching for a special pot for my plant. I didn’t find what I was looking for, but I found some old letters from the Vietnam War. They were from a woman to a man. I bought them thinking how lovely it would be to read the exchange of words from two people. Husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, mother and son, sister and brother, friends.. There is something very romantic about not knowing what you will find in a letter from a stranger, weather it’s actually romantic or not. Curiosity and mystery compelled me to buy them.

As I excitedly opened the wrapping as soon as I jumped back into my car, I found that the envelopes were empty… No letters. Only twelve letterless envelopes, neatly cut open to reveal the lack of content inside.

I can say that I was extremely and utterly disappointed.

No returns. The antique store swindled two dollars and fifty cents from me.

There is still something special about these old pieces of paper, they still hold value.

I think that people look too much for outcomes and forget about the obvious things that are right in front of them. So I looked at what I had before me.

I did a little research while I looked at the envelopes, and knew that a story could still be pieced together if I searched a little bit. I actually found very helpful information! I have the address and names of the people, so It was easier than anticipated. I suppose I was not swindled, and honestly not disappointed like I was at first.

This is what I found out about the letters:

There are eight letters from the same woman, Mrs. Riley Calcote, to Charles R. Calcote, who is a Master Sergeant in the Air force during the Vietnam war. He was located on a base in San Francisco in a communications squadron while Mrs Calcote moved from Houston Texas, to Palestine Texas, and to Allen Kentucky.

I have letters from 1968 to 1969. Oct 23, 1968. Nov 3, 1968. Nov 26, 1968, letter 56. Nov 27, 1968, letter 57. Dec 9, 1968, letter 63. Dec 10, 1968, letter 64. 1969, letter 87. March 18, 1969.

You must be thinking how I find this enjoyable. Looking at a stranger’s life and wondering about them. Why is it important? Why would you spend your night looking for information on someone you don’t even know? Because people fascinate me as much as they scare me, and their words and ways are beautiful and can be observed with a romantic eye, or an artistic eye, or even simply a curious eye. I am always wondering about what other people are thinking and feeling. I know that what you see in someones visage cannot compare to what you may see inside of them. Words can be the windows to the ever-feeling heart and pensive mind.

I will keep looking for letters in the overstocked antique store. I am sure I will find some form of writing. Until then, I will have to imagine what Riley said to Charles in her many letters to him.

Dear Charles…

IuehfedlfIasfueiudfjknnvbbcjssfrueiweodkosyewrtyopkjnghffdsusiopfkjbwuwfofpsofjndfljsfjaeoifoeijofjdkjfjdjfklajlkdjfkljaslkdfjlksdLjflkajlOkfdj jljfdlVkdjaslfjdaklfjlk;sEfklsajfk eijfaoiewjoeiwjeowijfoeiwajfoiejfgaosljfkldsjfkldjaflkdjl;fjads;lfjd;lfkjl;fj;lasjdf;lajlajfldijKjkjfhdslfjkldjfkldjfYkdsjfjdkfjdklfjkdfmfj;oOdjf;oasfh;oasjfoiasjf;oiasUfjo;iasfj;oiasdjfoiasjdfoiajfpiueyr8ru9eir0eurieurioaewuroiiepooefiwiodjepwofiiwefpoewfpofkoekfpokfojjfkldjflkasjfkldsjfkldjasadadlglqwqoewroewutoeripyotoui[tyiadasdfjsdghlkfjg;fs;hkljfldsjflvnv lkfjalsfjapoefjldfjaofj.



Listening to:

Lack of Color-Death Cab for Cutie


FALLing to my demise

FALLing to my demise

fear covers my mind like a thick blanket

it is blind to the desires of my heart

my mind throws me into a panic

how can this be a start


new faces and walkways

new buildings and streets

the pace of my heartrate is always on speed


i want something familiar

but amidst all this new

i must open my heart up

but that i won’t do


afraid to be alone

but not minding it too

not letting my angst and confusion fall through


how can fear control

steal my breath

see my death

will i always find myself in this regret?


I have been living in a state of suspense, a state of waiting. Waiting and not realizing that I am not on pause, that I am in fact living. I feel like my mind is in a balloon, above my body, and my life. I have cloudy vision, but from afar I am getting through my day very focused and barely aware of my surroundings. I look forward to every night, even before I get out of bed. I drive tired and walk tired and listen tired. I am always tired, waiting and unfeeling. I am putting my energy and life aside for something that is missing. Something that I am waiting for. My life feels incomplete. I can just tell by the empty feeling in my chest. I realize I am living, but who for? What for? What am I missing?? What can I do to fill the void that is causing me to fade away?

My most favored season to live in, Autumn, is in full commencement.The time where leaves lose their life and fall to their deaths. Corpses sprawled all along the streets and yards, and people pile them up and jump onto them, cracking and breaking their already disfigured bodies. It’s a lovely season, really. A time to let go of dead things and live life to the fullest, like the grand finale of color that the slowly dying foliage is showcasing.

The beginning of a period of stillness.

After the last breath of life and color, the cold.

I hope I can live like the leaves and give everything I have to the days ahead of me, no matter how many are counted.

I don’t want to find myself frozen, evergreen, unchanged.

Most days I am in a haze and I don’t realize that time is passing me by. I don’t want to waste my life waiting for things to get better, I want to make them better.


Listening to:

Terrible Love-Birdy



With my first semester as a college student just recently starting, I’ve said many goodbyes to my dear friends that are leaving me for school. I have never liked saying goodbye because it’s a very hard thing for me to do. To look at someone that I love and know that I won’t see them again in a while. To know that I won’t be able to eat lunch with them at our favorite taco restaurant, or make last minute plans to just hang out and take walks in the sunset.

Sometimes it’s better to say goodbye and run. Run away from the tears that are hiding behind the folds of my eyes, run from the hug that will make leaving seem like eternity. It’s letting time start ticking earlier so that a reunion can be made sooner. Or so that you can heal from what that person has left on your heart; bruises, confusion, love, pain.. Maybe never seeing them again is best sometimes.

Saying goodbye means a new beginning, always. Even if it’s only saying bye to one person. If they are important, your life will never be quite the same than when they were in it, and will force you to live differently and make changes. The transition will be hard, no matter what.

Like I have previously mentioned, change is my biggest adversary. All these goodbyes mean I won’t have friends around, I will be in a new school, I will be scared and nervous and anxious that I won’t know what I’m doing. Change makes me think of the worst case scenario.

Why do I have to live in a world where people leave? That is a worst case scenario, but it’s true. Leaving because they found someone else, because of school, because they don’t want to change or don’t love enough. People leave and sometimes don’t come back the same or they just don’t come back at all.

Sometimes they do come back, and I choose to keep my goodbye prolonged and prominent. It’s better to say goodbye once if its that painful to do it again to someone who makes you feel like you are numb with bruises, or sad because they have changed too much that they don’t even seem like the same person they once were.

Saying hello is letting someone back in. I want that in the people that have stayed true to who they are and that love me no matter what. It’s still hard, but with the people you know you can trust with your most vulnerable greetings, tears and smiles, are the ones worth letting back in.

It’s okay to let people go, especially around a time where life is changing fast for everyone.

People come and go, and that is something that I have learned since I was very young. I know the pain of being betrayed, forgotten, ignored, unwanted.. The people that cause this pain leave, and new ones always take their places.

Life goes on even after a good or bad goodbye.




Listening to:

Too Good At Goodbyes-Sam Smith


I have been pressuring myself a lot lately, to write for this blog I created. I chose to show my face and allow some of my friends to follow me. I am not at the point where I am comfortable sharing my thoughts with everyone I know, and I even find myself regretting the handful of people I did tell about this public journal of sorts.

I have been writing since I was very young, creating stories, keeping a journal and soon writing little excerpts on a hand-me-down laptop and saving them, never letting anyone read them. I wrote on my computer when my thoughts were too fast for a pencil. When I felt that my inspiration was on fire and hot. Typing was the easiest way to get something off of my chest.

My writing took flight freshman year of high school when my English teacher taught me so much about a subject that I would grow to love and make my major in college.

I made mistakes, and learned something that is crucial to being a writer. Being original and looking into yourself first, instead of others for worth and inspiration is the most important thing when writing. Don’t compare yourself to others, no matter how much better they seem in your mind. I learned this the hard way, but it needed to happen because now I know. I still remind myself of it very often.

Now, with high school done, and five journals to account for it, I started ‘Lonely vessel’ to reach out to people who may be feeling alone in life; like I find myself feeling sometimes. I created this blog when four years of my life had come to a close and new beginnings awaited me; and the unknown. I want to keep writing these next four years, but I want to take another step forward, and have others read my thoughts and fears and anything I have to say at two in the morning. My naked thoughts will be here for anyone to see.

I want to have the same honesty and depths that an anonymous writer would have. I don’t want to have this pressure of what others may think of me, especially the ones I know who are reading this. These words are who I am, so, it makes me very vulnerable indeed. It’s like taking a piece of my heart and soul and interpreting what I feel with letters and words and punctuation.

I have really been trying these past months to do new things, and face my fears. This is a fear I’ll face gladly, but slowly. It’ll take some time, like most things in life that are worth anything.

So, if you’re reading this, hello. I acknowledge you, I am intimidated, but I’m not afraid.


Listening to:

Gymnopedies 1. Lent et douloureux

romantic misery

No matter how many songs people write about the moon, it’s going to stay up in space, in solitude, without feeling the warmth and comfort of the romance that people think that the moon somehow has. It didn’t ask to be a symbol of love and passion, surrounded by only space and a chill of loneliness. It didn’t ask young lovers to look up at it and kiss their beloved, unknowingly sending a pang of hurt, causing another crater to appear on its once smooth spherical astronomical body. The moon, although in constant pain, remains in his usual position. Crying until red because of the pain he puts himself through just trying to get a closer look at what something he can never have looks like. Sometimes people observe the moon’s pain, but see it as beauty, and sometimes they don’t even notice it at all. What good would it be if anyone knew the truth? He’s up in space. Alone. Two hundred million miles away from the fascinating creatures who can feel and love. One day the moon will be gone, and people won’t notice because the moon’s dead remains will take a while to appear evident on earth. Just like a star that has been dead for a while. Its light will shine until it’s too late.




listening to:

Lullaby-Sleeping at last


New beginnings

my ultimate fear is change. change can be good or bad, but all the same, new beginnings scare me.

i’m finishing my senior year, saying goodbye to a place that has been my home for four consecutive years, and walking into a world that is unknown.

i’m currently typing, staring into a screen, hoping to reach out to a lonely vessel, anyone. not knowing what i’m actually doing, fearing that this site will collect dust and not be read by anyone.

you are here though, you are reading this. that is why i’m wandering through blindly, so that i may help others see. or so that i see.

my name is niccola, and i have never owned anything perfect, so this blog won’t be perfect, which is good because i am broken. broken things can still be beautiful. it really just depends on your perspective.

today i dropped my lovely new phone, face down on the pavement. when i picked it up there were an abundance of spiderweb-like tears in the glass. i have never shattered my phone before, and when i picked it up i was speechless. it’s been a couple of hours and i have already given each streak a meaning and i know why it fell.

i think its beautiful now, even though its sharp and should probably be replaced asap.

the point is, with change and trials you can choose which side to look at it from. each perspective is different, but there really is more to a shattered screen than its appearance, you just have to look at it closely enough.