The sun rises and the echo starts. My eyes open to four white walls and one window looking into an empty street. Three steps to the bathroom and three back to bed.
A glance at the window displays a mesmerizing yet unrealistic picture of me. The trees move flawlessly and the street extends a clean straight line. As much as I wish I could stay inside forever, my soul is letting go every day that passes. While I look through the window I feel myself separate as a negative force is pulling me back. Newton taught me I’m capable of an equal and opposite reaction, but as I hold on, I know he underestimated me.
Well maybe. I think he just went along with it. I wonder if someday the pull will be so hard that I can’t anymore. Perhaps I will get tired of trying and just let go. As much as I would love to, I can’t even if the people that love me the most barely look at me while on the paper chase, leaving no room for my own chase. I’m free-falling with a diminishing sense of existence.
My first class starts, 46 names with a black screen and a presentation. I can’t black tape my head to stop me from thinking. Over my right shoulder there’s the window but this time I only see waterfalls that fall into an abyss. The water-dropping taunting deepening my resent.
I smile as I look back at the same computer I have looked at for six months every day for seven to eight hours. The desk is neat with nothing but the computer and the sunray coming in from the window to refresh the room. While the window is still, my mind is unstable searching for a moment of peace.
Quite the task while you have been in a cube where the window is the only distinction from jail to home. But I have noticed that the window is just as unstable as mine.
The window displays the trees stripped of their leaves as they epitomize a life with no essence. The winter comes and goes, leaving the branches dry and desolate while the trees try to stay warm enough to foresee the summer warmth. The only difference between them and me is that they are on the outside looking in and I’m inside looking out.
English the class before my last class the most sought-after 45 minutes of my entire day.
The window now displays a field full of dandelions. The stalk is full of grass and the splendid dandelions on a straight line. My thoughts are refreshed. The assignments are given. And once again I turn to my right to the window, and the field is yet to disappear. This time the wind is flowing. Each dandelion’s away in the breeze is a stroke on my paper.
My hands are fluid and my ideas roll sentence after sentence. The joy in my heart while I write is accelerated every time I glance at the window making my heartbeat slower when I’m sad and faster when happy stamping every emotion on my paper with every stroke. The negative forces retreat and I’m now the last man standing.