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by fourth period, my brain is always fighting to stay focused. mr. carter's low voice always lulls into a low rumble the second that i turn to look out of the window, at the trees who's leaves have all fallen. now, the wind shoots down into the courtyard in whipping tornado-like shafts, creating magical spirals of leaves into the air before they softly fall back onto the ground.
the swirling, spiraling leaves send me into deep thought, to a world that probably doesn't exist anywhere but my mind. into a world where i would live in a village of treehouses, surrounded by piles and piles of rust-colored leaves. my mornings would consist of warm coffee and fuzzy pajamas, my afternoons of forest hikes and picnics, my evenings of good books and good, home-cooked food. next door, maeve would be hidden in her own treehouse, playing the piano and sending good vibrations through our windows. there wouldn't be fights or violence, there would be peace and comfort. there would be music, and laughter, and cheer. in my home, i would feel safe and loved. my morale would be at an all time high.
but every high has a come down,
and again i find myself sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, my elbows and forearms resting on the table in front of me, my notebook opened and flipped to an empty page. i look away from the window and back at the other students who are all diligently taking notes on the lecture mr. carter had been giving us the entire time. i sigh heavily, absolutely disappointed by reality
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