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I find it unfortunate.
That I do well in school. My teachers applaud my grades, and yet because of that fine lettered mark I'm branded due to my accomplishments. A suck-up. A teacher's pet. A brown-noser. I hadn't cared. I was getting my work done, I was getting it done well, and to hell with everyone else.

Then, I was elated to find an outside force to bring me to my full height. To put school on a second level, and bring fun and my happiness to first. I retained the grades, which improved even more as I was encouraged to do better.

But in a moment of destruction, my pyramid of happiness was destroyed, eroded, all in a matter of moments. As a violent cold rips through your body, causing unbearable pain in your stomach, one prays not to have to focus on anything else. Yet, I was not so fortunate.

Teachers at school loading upon my back assignments soon due which were enormous in proportions.

Schoolkids taunting me in endless waves and immature tones.

The constant ringing in my head that kept distracting me from moving.

But I continued. And then, the final blow. A confiscated personal item, and my world went to hell. Before I could lash out, I reported to the office and began my walk home. As I tried to keep tears from slipping over my cheeks, I strained to think of something that could keept me sound until I could reach the sanctity of my home.

A single thought. More than a thought, a physical item, a being, stayed in my mind. I focused on it all I could, and finally made it home. Only to collapse upon the bathroom floor and unleash every emotion I'd been bottling up for the past year. I couldn't stop crying, and I was home alone. I did the only thing I could do. The only thing I wanted to do.

Imagining myself being held in another's tight embrace, my sobs gradually ceased, and I was brought back to a stable mindset. Although the true presence of my saviour had been on leave, I could still imagine myself holding onto it.

But before the final day, before I could become too excited for my soldier's returning, the repair structures of my mind were once again tore down. A friend's call reached my ears, and I had no energy to respond. My support wanted to leave me.

I couldn't respond, and only answered by pressing the end call button on my phone. I moved slowly, winding down a flight of stairs to the privacy of my bedroom. I locked the door, and sat in the middle of the white carpeted surface upon which I walked.

I'd done something wrong. Something terribly wrong. Somewhere along the line, long before, I'd lost my cool, my outer surface that kept me from turning into that 'other person.'

Recounting every contact, every conversation, I ran over the data until my eyes were swimming in tears yet again. I'd spellchecked my errors, and found a list upon which I've created.

I've not yet found if my soldier indeed will return home, only to inform me of its departure once again, to move on to others. But, A single message catches me blind after such a confession from the depths of fate's mind.

I've concluded, hopefully in a false way, that my light is indeed leaving me. It withers my heart and stiffens my lip. I no longer have tears to cry. And when I think hard upon it, I can't form the words to voice my anguish. My friend...My informational companion, must have been lying. They wanted me to break the ties immediately, even though I had no proof of my own that the light would not return to that special spot in my heart. I refused to send my support away.

But I'm not sure if I'm ready to face the one that has held me up every time I fall down, and to hear him say 'It's over.'

As I've said, I've no longer tears to cry. Through the days of my light's leave I had to stumble upon every obstacle tossed into my way, and I kept it to myself. I cried and cried and cried, and I can't do it any longer. If the time comes, may God have mercy upon my dignity and allow me to keep a straight voice, as I'll not be able to look into my light's eyes.

I'll act as if it's fine. It'll be okay, and I'll continue about my business. Yet later, when the lights are off, and only the whirring sound of my fan is reaching my ears, I'm ashamed to say that my cheeks will run smooth with a river of salty tears yet again.

Unfortunately, my partner in life, my light, my soldier, can only be compared to Romeo, os Shakespears poetry. My self to Juliet, two star-crossed lovers never live to see the end of the play.

Though I'm distraught to find that I'll not be able to embrace the warmth and comfort of death, as when my light leaves my presence, my eyes, my life, I'll still be standing.

I'm afraid that I've written vaguely, about the turmoil that resides deep in my heart. And in order to help quite a few of my friends out there, there is a fault that always drive away the light. The need. That's it. Just the need for the other. Beware of it's touch, and don't give into the vortex of emotion so soon, as then you may be caught in the same pickle as I.

It's odd. Through all of this, my rage has yet to surface. I haven't felt rage in so long. And I only have one thing to direct it towards...An idea, rather than a person really. Well, a few ideas.

1. Why have my 'friends' betrayed me? They've taken the batteries of my flashlight, the wick from my candle, and the bulb from my lamp. I'm in the dark, and it seems to be there where they leave me to be shot by the hunter.

2. Why? Which fault of the list did I commit to drive my light away? Of course, I unfortunately understand the working way of the world. And yet, I still refuse to believe myself when knowing the inevitable.


I dreadfully wait for the ring of my phone. The romantic tune I've specialized for my special caller will darken the room itself, along with my mood. As I answer, the down tune in my soldier's words will surely tell me what they are to confess, before they even can sound out the words.

I'm an amateur in the way of these things. As, this is my first partnership with a match such as this. But, I feel that because of common sense I cannot help but know what my light will softly whisper into the phone...

It's over.


As I detach myself from my screen to console my own self, I still lie waiting for that harmonious tune. Such beautiful ugliness that comes forth from it. My star crossed lover, my highwayman, has unknowingly robbed me blind of my heart, and is about to steal away into the night.

So says the evidence from distant friends, from indirect sources, and from my own gut feelings. It's been a long time since I've prayed. I haven't placed my palms together for such a fashion since the death of my uncle. Yet, I do it now, in the eyes of everyone that reads this page.

Dear God. Forgive me. Forgive him. Please, don't take away my light.

And as I stay frozen like this, I still wait. Wait for the sound of my hone to break the prayer. In irony, it is most likely just this action that drove my light away.

For like Romeo and Juliet, where two different family names cannot be together,

with myself and my highwayman, I'm afraid that two different religions most likely was the driving cause behind my pain.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope I'm dead wrong. And since I doubt the common sense that tells me what happens, I'm praying in the dark.

It's funny, you know. In an expression of feeling, in the beat of a butterfly's wings, everything can change...

And what's sad. It was such a nice day out today...