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I am here but not here. The teachers tick me off in the register but no one sees me, for I have long perfected the art of being invisible.
It’s horrible, being ashamed of someone you care about; it eats away at you. And if you let it get to you, if you give up the fight and surrender, eventually that shame turns to hate.
A golden patch of sunlight slants across the wall, slowly widening like a spreading stain. What is the point of it all? I wonder—this endless cycle.
As the light begins to intensify, so does my misery, and I wonder how it is possible to hurt so much when nothing is wrong.
