One should know better than to meddle in issues over which they should have no say and have no stake in other than that they want to feel important.
Not really sure what this is about; I just wanted to write something. so yeah.
After all that had happened, she was relieved to be home.
It had been a long day. A test, a quiz, and even more… non-school related of course. Except she didn’t really care to think about that part. What had happened in relation to her one and only friend in the place that was school.
But oh well; she had done it once without anyone to help he, she could and would have to do it again.
The wound on my heart is tender; I am happy for what I have accomplished, but I am sad for what I am about to leave behind.
Keeping it the same, keeping it uniform and fair, giving everybody the same exact thing should be enough, right?
Different people have different needs, and it does not help to give everybody the same thing; the same help, the same resources to help them succeed.
So no. You need to give people what they need specifically; not what most people need.
Her friend was imaginary, seemingly. He used to be real, but now he wasn’t, he was gone.
It was a long story.
All she knew was that she missed him, but he would never be able to come back from where he was now. She hoped he was happy, but he would never know now.
She wondered if he ever thought about her; if she was happy, if she was successful, if he even cared anymore. If he remembered her. She wondered what he did now. She wondered if she would be able to see him again.
She saw him sometimes, though he was now imaginary; she saw him where he would be at home, where he would just fit. Or where she thought he would. She didn’t trust her memories of him anymore; they seemed almost too magical. Too untouched, to perfect, in a way. Like they almost weren’t real anymore.
She only remembered him in a certain number of ways; she had been his friend, but not allowed too much time. What time they had, they had made last, before he had to leave. It had been fun. But it had been so long.
So she didn’t know if her few retained memories were fair to him; if it was fair where she imagined his smiles, his jokes. Those whispered memories weren’t enough sometimes; she just wanted to see him again, though she knew she would have to wait.
All she knew was that she missed him.
Her brassy hair waved behind her as she looked out the window of the bus. Again and again, as she always had.
A familiar view it was. Every single morning for years, seemingly.
There was laughing around her. There were other people.
But she just stared out of the open window, the wind pushing her hair behind her. The air moving past her, moving the same way that it always had.
It was enough.
Buff away at the hate; polish and reveal the love beneath.
The stab of your words
pain that radiates through my mind
Sometimes there is no seeming reason for survival other than the hope that better memories are to arrive in the horizon, that when they look forward to a new day, it will be better than the last.
Your malicious words are a catapult; their destruction can reach far and hurt many. They crush and enrage in result; their projectiles are unyielding in weight and unable to dodge. They launch to their targets straight and true, their bullets and bombs decimating those who are unlucky enough to receive them if they do not have a strong armor against such attacks, though even the toughest of skins do not hold up to the most relentless and repeated strikes.