Well, school has started again. Oh, and if you're under the delusion that the first days of school are happiness and light, children laughing and making new friends, enjoying new experiences and looking forward to the future, you are sadly mistaken.
In a way, I was looking forward to the beginning of school. But now I'm looking behind at it, and it's not so green and fresh. It's more brown and wrinkled, like the apple the child brought his teacher has shivelled in the sun. A windfall. That's what I'm praying for now.
I have so few classes with my friends, and only 5 people I know in my entire lunch period. The people I had hoped to see every day in class, I now will only see in the halls and every other day for one period, and the hope which I held out for making new friends is as dead as the apple.
The guy I had a crush on... well, I'm no longer stuck in that prison of unrequited love. I feel nothing for him anymore. And I've started to wonder if a strange, wild little hope that lived in those daydreams was better off disappointed or dead. The jury's still out.
Sight is back, at least. I went out to the woods and fields Saturday evening, singing all the way. I fed the horses and jumped the creek. Alone, I was free. I wish the sun hadn't set. I want to go back. It's the cry of my soul.
There are no apple trees in those woods. I don't think I could bear to see them if there were.
I think on the despair, and my knees grow weak. Have you ever hit a point, in the middle of your daydreams, where real life suddenly appeared before you, crumbling your walls of hope and wishes like a tower of wooden blocks? You suddenly realize that adventures will never befall you, that romance will never be what you dreamed, and that you are doomed to life. How long will it take to rebuild the tower, the obelisk that kept before me like the column of fire that led the Israelites through the long desert night? It was an unreachable hope, but a hope nonetheless.
My fingers grow to weary to write. And I have lost the fire.
