I waste an awful lot of paper trying to put words to what is in my heart. I waste an awful lot of time in the attempt to write something worth reading, and put my thoughts into an order that is possible to comprehend. Once in a while I succeed, usually when I am only writing to get it out of my system. Sometimes I like to think of myself as the fly on the wall, observing, trying to make heads or tails of the lives of those around me. I’m walking in their shoes for a bit, but I’m not really like them at all. What I see makes my soul weep, it makes my fingers want to spell it all out faster, ever faster, for my time here is limited. Today it seems as though I have forever, but I know that forever speeds by at a breakneck speed until there are only days or weeks left for me to fulfill my purpose.
Last school year was the first time I ever set foot in the school as a student; my soul wept more often then. For it seems, as I continue to be exposed I am developing this immunity. It’s an immunity that I am trying to fight, but I often lose. They say if you wear another person’s clothes long enough you become that person, at least that’s how it plays out for Peter Pan. This is battle which I fight even harder than the last. To allow myself to be put in one of their boxes would be suicide: sacrificing my true self for mediocre normalcy.
The school is a battle field indeed, if only we could see. If only we could see what I attempt to unveil through the lens of these written words then maybe we would recognize that we are allowing the enemy to win this battle, allowing him to win without even trying. We willingly walk out into the minefields, fighting only against ourselves. Oh to see beyond the thinness of this oxygen to the great gravity of the situation in the other dimension. And so I scratch onto the paper these simple erasable words in an attempt to make sense of what is happening around me. I try to draw sketches of this turmoil inside for the eyes of the world. Often I fail, but perhaps once in a very great while I succeed in etching my passion onto another human soul. The very possibility makes the writing of these words and phrases worth the effort.