FicWad

I sit in class staring at the black board. It was a board, but it wasn't black. It was green. So why was it called a black board? Nothing ever seems to be what people label it as. Once hot chocolate goes cold, what do you call it? You call it hot chocolate. But it's not hot anymore. So why call it that? If some one hears sirens, people expect something went wrong. But that might not be the case. If you have some one from Alaska go down to lets say, Hawaii. It's late at night and around 60 degrees fahrenheit. The Alaskan is going to say it's hot, but the Hawaiian will say it's pretty cold. Who's right? No one. They just tell it as they see it, or tell it as they think. So when you see me smile. You think I'm happy don't you?

Now I look at you. My best friend. You sit there and stare at the same back board I was just looking at.

When you see my lips curve and slowly turn into that mask I always wear, you see the mask, but not me. You think I'm enjoying myself don't you? But I'm not. You think I like being around you. You think I love your jokes. You listen to me laugh and expect I think you're funny. But you don't know whats going on in my head. You don't know what I think about you. I know you just as much as you know me.

Then you look at me and smile like you know every thing is okay. Like I'm okay.

My smile is gone.

I know you just as much as you know me. Which means I don't know you at all. I know you like the color purple. I know you have a dog. I know you see me as a friend. But what does that mean. What does that say about you? It doesn't say anything. So who are you?

Your smile fades and now you really look at me. Do you see the pain I feel. The agony I'm suffering from. Do you hear the truth that I am screaming at you. Screaming with my mouth closed. Screaming with out making a sound. But screaming with a burning stare.

You know my secret and act like it's nothing. You think I'm okay when I smile at you. You think I'm okay when I say don't worry. You think that when I say I don't need help I really don't need help. You think I really don't want to talk about it, when really I do.

You're still looking at me. Staring. I can feel your eyes burring into mine.

Then you get up and walk over to me.

You sit down and grab my hand.

I'm crying.

Still staring at the same spot. Your empty desk.

I don't want to talk right now...

"How about we talk?" You say.

And the truth comes out.

"I would really like that." I say.

"I'm glad to hear that." You say, and I know you mean it.