That tuesday afternoon
When i see your tired eyes and then i take a good look at myself in the mirror and think “i've been the one thats stressed” it makes me feel guilty of feeling so. When i see you stressed to work harder for bigger things and then i notice the selfish action of me complaining about an algebra equation, i feel guilty of feeling so. 3 , 2 , 1 hour of sleep you get and still stress over time when i complain for only having 8 and when i realized my selfish act, i feel guilty of feeling so. When i see you stressed over a 35 in english and notice my selfish action of only having a 70, i feel guilty of feeling so. But that day, tuesday afternoon, i think that i have the right to feel as such and look at you and say im also working hard. That warm smile curved onto your face questions my guilt, i see the shadows on your face but my mind brings it to no thought. “Just another sorrow face” to me i thought.
But that tuesday afternoon, the day you least expect to not see someone. Usually someone is to too lazy for school on monday and just screws it. Or the last school day of the week is slow and you decided to leave early to treat yourself to some nice fast food as your going down the street forgetting all the sorrow faces you left back at the building. I take one, two , three steps to my physical ed class in the same hall, in the same routine. Although something was wrong, something blank, out of place, missing. Appsense of the person with a sorrow face. Looking around, nowhere to be found. Brushing off the fact that i don't have to sense the pity pain from the sorrow yet, but yet, happy and proud presentation he brought to me. I try not to mind the fact that he’s gone. I don’t want to. He only felt pity of himself and made other feel the same just to make himself proud enough to make himself suffer more… is what i thought. But up come the next tuesday afternoon of the new week. Slow warm summer day. Had i never even thought of all the possible ideas that had happen to the young fellow. To think such little of a person who tries so hard, why did i find it so annoying. Maybe i still do but if only i had any idea why he did try ever so hard. I would have never thought the boy with the sorrow face with a mask of proud and happiness w was up to liquid. Men in white as if already in heaven. He wastes his everlasting minutes thinking of his friend. His fake friend who only thought so lowly of him, as if he wanted attention or such. His sorrow face , still plastered with a warm curved mouth. Why does he feel the need to try so hard? He stresses but what about me. Stress is such a big thing when it comes to your last moments in reality. So to think pity of him. His only friend. Such a fake friend. Such a fake friend i was, such a fake friend i say, i say, why am i the one who is so ignorant. The last breaths were a sigh of gratefulness of the friendship. Of the fake friendship that he has ever asked for. He didn't ask for much. And i spat on it. To stress and act so selfish. Selfish i am. I realize on the tuesday afternoon.
There was a boy, with tired eyes. Faithful yet a sorrow heart. He stressed over everything. To be so selfish to stress over 8 hours of sleep and a 70 in english made me feel guilty of feeling so. But now the freedom of sorrow and the stressed shadows on his face are lifted and i once again walk the hall on a tuesday afternoon. Still looking for the boy with the sorrow face. Oh how guilty i say, oh how guilty of feeling so.
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