Wednesday, June 25, 2014



Why is it that we tell people we love them when we are drunk?
Is it our true feelings that we have been holding back and wish to share?
Or is it another reality
Just like our dreams at night in which our minds have an affair?

Kiss me sweet soul,
While I am awake,
While I am drunk,
And while I sleep.
So that all three of my realities are in sync.

Alexandria Rose Rizik

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

The Runner

The Runner

If we were to run away, we would first start at the Grand Canyon.
You once told me how you wanted to go camping and I’ve never forgotten that because you said that the same day you told me you loved me for the first time.
I mean, if we’re going to go camping, let’s at least go somewhere with a nice view.

Our second destination would be California; we’d get lost in a crowd of stars in Hollywood, walk on all sorts of beaches, visit the San Diego Zoo, and eventually make our way up to Yosemite where we would carve our initials into a large, beautiful oak tree that has been around longer than we can count on all of our toes and fingers.

The third place we’d run off to would be Vegas. We’d sneak into casinos and win money. How else are we going to pay for our trip? Then we’d find a small chapel to elope at. Virginity is a sacred thing that should be saved for marriage and I want to make love to you every night until death do us part.

We’d go skiing in the bitter cold winters of Colorado.

We’d snap a photo of ourselves in front of South Dakota’s famous mountain, Mount Rushmore.

We’d go to a rodeo in Texas.

We’d take a photo of ourselves next to the Gateway Arch in St. Louis.

We’d eat peaches in Georgia.

We’d visit Washington D.C. and see our nation’s capital for the first time.

We’d party with Snooki at the Jersey Shore.

We’d pour maple syrup over everything we eat in Vermont.

We’d chow down on some lobster in Maine.

For our final destination we’d go to New York; we would visit the Statue of Liberty, go to the exact location in Times Square where a nurse and sailor’s first kiss became a famous photo, we would take a stroll in Central Park, and lastly, we would visit the World Trade Center, where too many American citizens lost their lives and too many firemen died trying to save them. It’s sad to say that a tragic day like that is what brought us together as a country…no matter what political party we supported.

-Alexandria Rizik
Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Writer's Digest Prompt: Last Love

Prompt of the Day from

You call an old flame from high school whom you still have feelings for and ask to meet up. The flame says, “Sure, how about noon at the pub by your house.” While waiting at the pub, your flame walks in—wearing a wedding dress (or tuxedo). The flame looks at you and says, “I’m supposed to be getting married today, but …” What happens? Write this scene.

Last Love

I sat there. Two vodka and tonics later, he walked in…wearing a tuxedo. I felt my eyebrows furrow with confusion. He greeted me first with his eyes then approached me. I could feel my body temperature increasing with nerves. We hugged.
         “I’m feeling a tad underdressed,” I clenched my skirt and laughed.
         “I’m supposed to be getting married today, but,” he scratched his head.
         “But what?”
         “But,” his eyes began to water. We both sat down.
         “I caught her with the priest.”
         “What? Priests aren’t allowed to do that.”
         He laughed at me.
         “Only you can manage to make me laugh during a time like this.”
         I smiled and laughed along.
         “Let me get you a drink,” I offered. “Can we have two whiskey sours?”
         The bartender handed us our drinks a moment later. We clinked our glasses together and drank.
         “To be honest, I wasn’t going to come today,” he admitted.
         “Come on, Aly. Let’s be real with each other. Some people aren’t capable of being just friends.”
         I looked down at my drink, not sure of how to respond.
         “I still love you,” he said.
         I looked up, now really at a loss for words.
         “I still love you too, Mikey.”     
         “Why did you want to see me today?”
         I looked at him. I looked at the ceiling. I looked at Ed, the bartender. I looked at him again. I chugged my drink, until there wasn’t a drop left.
         “Do you remember that night you and I went to Misha Harrington’s seventeenth birthday party? We got super drunk and woke up the next day in her parents bed.”
         Mikey laughed with a look of sadness as if he was recalling it all.
         “Yes. How could I forget?”
         “Do you remember what you said to me when you woke up?”
         He looked at me. He looked up at the ceiling. He looked at Ed, the bartender. He looked at me again. He chugged his drink, until there wasn’t a drop left.
         “You remember,” I said as he searched for more distractions.
         “Say it.”
         “Say what?”
         “What you said to me that morning.”
         His tongue traced his lips full circle. He looked down and cleared his throat.
         “Can I have another whiskey sour?” he asked Ed.
         “Say it.”
         “Alright,” he cleared his throat again. “I said I hoped that one day I would be able to wake up to you every morning until we were old and senile.”
         “Yeah. What else?”
         He gave me a look. I shot him one back. Ed handed him his drink. He chugged it down before proceeding.
         “And I’m not talking out of a drunk teenage guy’s mouth. I love you Aly Lou.”
         I smiled with satisfaction.
         “What is this all about? What is the point of all this?” he asked sounding somewhat aggravated.
         I closed the distance between us.
         “I still want to grow old and senile with you.”
         I kissed him before he could answer. When I pulled back his eyes were still closed. He looked confused. Scared. Vulnerable. His eyes opened.
         “And for the record, I would never leave you for a priest.”
         He laughed and shook his head.
         “It’s just not that easy, Aly.”
         “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it.”
         His phone interrupted the moment.
         “I’m sorry, hold on.”
         He walked away to answer. He shook his head a few times. He talked with his hands like he did when we were sixteen. He tilted his head and quietly yelled into the phone then hung up. He walked back over to me.
         “Who was that?” I asked.
         “Who’s Molly?”
         He just looked down at his phone.
         “Oh. The cheater.”
         “She’s not that bad, Aly. It’s just- she’s very insecure. Her father was an alcoholic and-”
         “Of course.”
         “Sarcasm hasn’t changed either.”
         “Here we go again.”
         “This is why we could never be together.”
         “Then why did you come?”
         I took another sip of my drink.
         “What does it matter? I’m here.”
         “It matters a lot. Did you come because you wanted to? Or because your bride-to-be left you for chronic masturbating hypocrite?”
         He looked into my eyes.
         “Answer the question.”
         “I came because you were always the person I went to when something was wrong.”
         “So I’m your shrink.”
         “Then what am I?”
         “My first love.”
         I nodded my head, understanding now.
         “But not your last.”
         He took in a deep breath and mumbled an unfortunate, “No.”
         “Take a shot with me, Mikey,” I looked at him. Through him.
         “I don’t now-”
         “Like old times.”
         Ed handed us two shots.
         I chugged mine while Mikey observed me.
         “I have to go, Aly.”
         He stood up and left. I drank his shot. I looked at Ed. He shrugged at me. I was just his first love. But never his last. He was my first kiss. My first slow dance. My first bring-home-to-dad kind of date. My first drunk adventure. My first love. My first breakup. And he was my last drink.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Trying out some poetry :)

"Their Separate Ways" © December 2013

They went their separate ways,
Of which was only supposed to be temporary.
Learning of the women’s anatomy is how he spent his days,
While she spent hers in the library.
He thought that he knew what life was all about,
He thought that he had figured it all out.

When winter returned
And they were both to meet once again,
His changed attitude had her concerned.
Things were officially put to an end.
He had chosen one of the many bruised apples that had already fallen to the ground,
Too cocky and too scared that he would fall if he tried to reach for the one more profound.

When he begged her for a second chance
She walked away without a second glance.

-Alexandria Rose Rizik