The Difference is that They Were Allowed to Dream…

A few days ago, I wrote this passage while doing homework for math/science courses.  I realized that its entire essence… kinda fit me.  Without further ado, you’ll find the random passage I wrote below; I was editing it when I first came up with the idea for this blog.

The difference is that they were allowed to dream, and I wasn’t.

Every time I found myself knocking hands with a stranger’s, scuffing my shoe along the burgundy carpet, catching my jacket on backpack zippers, I felt my fists clenching at my sides.

How dare they think that this was a given right, that they were put in this goddamned place to live out their wishes in bliss. It was torture to pick at my pencil eraser listlessly, chew on the pink nub, and stare with glassy fog at the projector screen of useless figures and digits.

No! You were placed here to force your way through. You were placed here to get rich. Weren’t you? Weren’t you… Sam?  Sam? 

“Sam? Are you paying attention, Sam? Eyes on the blackboard.”

Gravity pulled me down through the clouds again. All around me were laughing eyes, and stern eyes, and clueless eyes, like mine. I focused my foggy ones on the shoe of a fidgety kid nearby and then turned back to the board, determined to make it through the day without another word. It was back to the pencil chewing and glass staring and… torture.

Can we fall apart any faster?

 

~ Ruth

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