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FROM DAY to night. Then dark to light. My soul tires from the repetitive pattern.
There I was, in a varse four-wall room (one of many in this educational institute), attempting to grasp the concept of 'love at first sight'. It seemed like half of the class had mistaken the topic of Romeo & Juliet for an instant slumber session; whilst I quite couldn't comprehend how looking at someone could make you fall in love.
From my perspective, love is a journey built upon so many emotions. It takes time and getting used to, to love someone. It's the idiocy for me: you can't just glance at them and feel your souls tying, destiny sealing both of yours' fate. I just thought that, that phrase is commonly misinterpreted for attraction.
It would make so much more sense if I, for instance, looked at someone and only lust or desire came from that glance. Love however? A plain and simple no - it's way to big of a step.
Excluding the sleeping students, chatter resounded off of the beige walls. Yet again, Mr Boateng failed to take control of the class: resulting in us receiving packs of work containing information on Shakespeare's romance-related play.
Thirty out of the sixty minutes we had of English, were remaining. I'd never felt more grateful to get out of this mind-muddling lesson. My biro ink pen danced neatly, on the last page of my worksheet, pirouetting for it's last letter. The completion of my work enhanced my boredom.
"What to do, what to do," I mumbled to myself incoherently, whilst clicking my pen.
All of a sudden, the classroom's mahogony doors were opened. In entered the vice principle, Mrs Tamsworth - a middle-aged white woman who stayed consistent in her suit and pant attire. By her side, though, was a pale-skinned boy. He had monolids showcasing his dark eyes. Situated on his head was a messy mop of jet black hair, that complemented him well. Very well.
He had on the school's compulsory uniform: a black v-neck sweater over a crisp white dress shirt and black and green striped tie. His bottoms were black dress pants ironed to perfection, like the rest of the male population in this school. Despite the rules, he added his own twist to the uniform: he had on a plain black zip up hoodie, a silver chain and a few silver rings. His choice of footwear were high top vans, disregarding the usual leather or patent school shoes.
The new boy was cute. No. That'd be an understatement. He was handsome, good-looking.
"Everyone rise to your senior." said Mr Boateng, abruptly jumping up from his previous position.
