the sky is blue

<• people •>

I was approaching a period in my life where I thought a little more about everything. 

Even about her.

We were still friends, but it wasn't the same as before ninth grade.  Instead, it was a sort of connection that only pried us apart with each passing day and week.

Did I really mess up that bad? 

I was also slipping into the category of being depressed, as school had just started back up after Winter Break. 

I kept waiting and hoping for a great time in my life, where things would make sense.

I wanted grades to come easily.  I wanted people to come easily.  I wanted her to come back to me.

I missed our wonderful friendship they way it used to be. 

School hallway exchanges would be brief and meaningless. 

What's the point of saying hi if we aren't even going to talk? 

I would see her everyday on the way to one of my classes, and I loved that moment in the day.  It reminded me of the good old days when we would really see each other at school. 

As for the English class, some days, I would get to spend time with her.  I loved those days. 

But some days, I never got a chance.  Those were the days I felt the smallest, just another fish in the sea.  A fish whose scales had either fallen off or become gray and dull. 

I wasn't fitting in wherever I went.  Some of my "friends" began to hate me and purposely bring me down. 

"Oh my god, Dante!" Belle would shout everyday.  "Seriously, can you do anything right?" 

"Can you get higher than an F on any test?" I would fire back.  But whatever I said wouldn't matter. 

My vote didn't matter.  They would take my ballot, rip it up, and laugh at me while I was minding my own business.

A lot of my friends were always busy. I would ask them if they wanted to go to a nearby plaza after school, but they would always give me the same excuses.

"It might rain, so I can't go," they would say.

"My parent said I have to come run errands with them," they would say.

"Sorry, I can't today, but maybe another time," they would say.

I'd get the same tacky responses every time, so many times that I even considered not talking anymore. 

On the bus, there she would be, in all her hidden beauty. 

"I'm not that smart," she would say. 

"I know that it's not that good, but please read it to the end," she would say. 

"I know I look bad today.  My hair is everywhere," she would say. 

I would say nothing.