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tales of something simple - high school

i believe

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

all types of chaos

high school

I often wander the hallways and I see all of these people coming and going, going and coming.  Mostly I keep quiet and low, like most, who don’t wish to be noticed, but rather, wish to be the one going.  All of the faces may be different, but some of their lives I know are the same.  Even the one’s who won’t say it out loud in front of anyone, not even to their dearest friend.  I bet they have their bad days and flawed lifestyles too.  And as I watch, as I walk through the narrow corridors that never fit more than three people at length, I imagine what they think before they fall asleep at night.  If behind each individual facade there really is a person, a piece of humanity just waiting to be discovered.  They are just waiting to be found out, because we all know…we are rarely ourselves in front of anyone.  Most of us have a hard enough time alone late at night, trying to find out why it is we make a damn in the world.  Each mind drifting off to sleep or to insomnia, crossing their fingers and hoping to die to find out if we mean anything to anyone at all.

There are some that I pass that I see no life in.  It’s as if they were born and no one smacked them in order to get them running and screaming.  I worry more about the quiet than the loud.  The one’s that are silent think the most, and find out quicker than the boisterous that life is nothing unless someone told you that you could be something, but being something requires more energy than you can afford to put out.  The boy who sits alone at lunch, picks at his food, and only stares at you when you glance over by chance, isn’t the one who typically wants to blow up the school and get all the kids running for their life.  He’s the kid that never got hugged enough at home.  His parents work too much.  His older sister is off at college and was spoiled rotten.  His grades are mediocre and sometimes he won’t even try, only sometimes, because it might mean someone will pay attention and find out why.

He isn’t pitiful.  He isn’t weak.  He isn’t a kid you look at and preach honesty to during gym class, about how he needs to get a life because we all had fucked up child hoods.  But he deserves a little attention.  Because that’s all anyone ever does anything for. Attention.  Daring to be different can be overrated.

After leaving lunch, there’s couple’s holding hands, holding textbooks, holding onto their hearts for fear it’ll climb out of their chest and dissolve onto the linoleum flooring.  I see these people and I wonder how they really feel.  She watches him as he speaks and doesn’t watch where she’s going.  He’s taller and holds more authority, overseeing all activity of the surroundings with his broad shoulders and directive lead.  It makes you wonder if it’s really love or if it’s just a show so that she can have a date for prom and he can get a good lay before the big game Thursday afternoon.  But then again, maybe you can only love with half your heart here.  Because the other half is never really found until you grow up and learn about what it really means to make love and make up your mind.  No one ever taught us in twelve years of obvious education the not so obvious.  I don’t recall taking notes on hammered hearts or spattered feelings.  A written test was never given on identifying who your real friends are or how to recognize the difference between “I love you for now,” and “I don’t know if I’ll love you ever, but I’ll say it anyway.”  But oral tests have been given in screaming matches on Friday night and make up kisses on Saturday morning.  Invisible but apparent tests of strength, not in numbers, but in a bended soul. Tests not of intelligence, but of a naive lack of experience.  It’s about emotions sometimes and other times it’s about having someone to reach over and hold onto when you crash on the floor at some kid’s party because you trust them.  You trust you with them.  You trust they’ll make you instead of break you, and in the process you break yourself.  He’ll love her until he gets tired, and she’ll allow herself to be wrong in every argument until she finds out he’s leaving her because he’s not ready for a kid and she’s not ready to get over what she thought was what forever stood for.  Promise rings are only promises, and promises are broken all the time.  They get broken and he gets broken and she gets broken because no one ever said there was a rule about being honest and being true.  Cowardice isn’t taught it’s learned and it’s lived by.  Someone will tell you that you’re a coward and to go to hell…but you’ll still be a coward.

Those same couples who love and who hate and who sleep in the same bed or who wait for the wedding band are the same people who were never loved enough, or were loved so much they drown in it.  They either drown in their emptiness or they drown in their overwhelming reality of claustrophobia.  Those same people who wonder why more people don’t think like they do, or how too many don’t see the big picture.  If you look closely enough at the big picture, you see that it isn’t all that big and then you classify life as one of your several failures and disappointments.  Find someone new to blame and you can cross it off your list as “figured out.”

If you think you’re honest your not.  If you think you’re fake, you probably are.  If you think you know nothing and everything at the same time you do.  You just don’t know what you know and you don’t know what you don’t know.  Life’s a good catch that way, but you’re not so sure the challenge is worth it.  But then you find someone or something to challenge yourself with, the chase, and the catch, whatever you call it.  And you get to thinking about all the things you love and never did love, how you got it and then how you lost it and you start to think it’s the world’s fault.  Or you blame yourself, throw a pity party, but no one is in attendance.  Because no one will care and those that pretend to, lie.

The boy at lunch and the couple that is destined to eventually be without each other are only two of an infinite number of groups of people who don’t know where they’re going, and hell, even if they did they couldn’t get there because they don’t stop to see the unmistakable.  Our time is short and there are many places we will have been.  And I guarantee you that each and every place, time, space, and name will imprint, no, engrave its way into your half heart.  Because we’re all guilty of lying about whom we are.

Everyone is guilty of trying to tell you who you are.  And you are just as incredulous because you let them.

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