It was all so jaded.
Every day was a humdrum. She’ll wake up early every day. She never desired to stay home, where her father was.
She’ll beam at her friends, do paper works….-Innumerable doings just to while the day away. She deemed her backdrops as constant, something she couldn’t do anything about. She sort out all the things a typical university student would do. But not once did she gain any satisfaction or happiness from her activities.
She often wondered whether she was depressed. And she’ll always come up with a NO.
Everyday passed in a haze. She could hardly recall the looks she saw and the “publics” she gabbed to during the day.
Once she was home, she’ll latch herself in her scope, downing in words by her much loved authors. Her life was nothing extraordinary.
The day she died, she woke up late. Every minute was an hour. She saw everything.
And for the first time, she heard him. She dredge up why she stopped listening, why she was diligent in going to school even if she couldn’t care less of her studies.
The day she died, she noticed how he stole peeks at her. She had heard buzzes but she never really gave it much attention. She never gave him much attention.
She heard every whispered convo, taps on the table, she heard everything, even heartbeats, she heard everything at the same time, yet listened to them individually.
The day she died was the most alive she had ever been. She felt the life around her.
She directed the way with remorse and disinclination. Most do.
(written on the day i was to leave my school and transfer to another)
-xzy
