I almost thought that I was screaming but at least it should have been a safer place. I let my face seem like pig but my chest kept thinking that I was just having a sun diameter long run. It is true that my shirt smells like sweat but it was just delivered by my sweet but not tasty laundry aunt. I am sitting here, in front of me is the library. I try to respect my hunger by just admiring the stairs and thigh thick books from afar.
On the right side there are my schoolmates pretending to be a friend with this one gay guy, invisibly bullying but who cannot see it? I can feel insecurity bawling out of his nostrils and it fills the air with an intense reeking of headache and street lights sold cheap perfume. I think I should go back to my place and wash my hair until it smells like grass or something nice, like seawater or grandma's handkerchief.
I must pretend to be insane or else I am going to spend my life seeking for the top I do not want to step on.
There is no safe place at all. This is the safest I could find, but there are voices of people chatting and laughing and the smokes of their cigarettes and the sound of airplane and footsteps and life, and life, I even can hear the leaves beside me photosynthesizing. Send me home already.
On Wednesday my roommate does not have class and that means if I go back now I would find her sleeping on the desk with her eyeglasses on, or worse, I think I would find her studying her latin names of the animal bones and when I open the door she would greet me with her usual green smile and I would have to reply with at least half of her smile and now I already feel the balloon in my chest hugged too tightly by the ribs.
I should have taken another major instead. Maybe something like agriculture so I at least could be a use for the soil or to feed the worms. The people passing by seem to be looking through my skin. It's not my fault that they have to run to the toilet as fast as they can. At first I thought the sport festival was here. It was perfectly normal for them to be so much competitive.
The flushes sound exactly like this one neuron I got, or these split ends that have split ends that have split ends.
I am the only one inanimate here. My shoes speak German and I think they just want to go to an elegantly candlelit restaurant but all I can think of is a cave with blue and green mosses and cavemen with their torches. Only this square, blue thing with blinding pink font in my gray backpack tries to keep me safe. But I let it stay in the dark, and it was a right decision because I would not know what I would be if I had felt safe when a friend greeted me and asked what I was doing here.