I met you with a wary handshake. You had a wool pea coat, dusty skin, and stony eyes.
 
To the absolute unlovable I was pulled, and forever will be.  

Your browbones sat like lofty balconies to the eyes.

Perhaps at one time your bright eyes surveyed the view below, when ambitions were young and the stage was empty--waiting to be filled.

It wasn't long before the shadows pulsed in the mezzanine in tiny wisps.

You replaced the velveteen curtains with a much brighter color, but still the shadows climbed the walls.

They grew into roots, sticking out, sliming under the floor.

They burst through, the wretched, wrinkled roots, in a mix of powder and plaster around your head.

From then on, it was damage control

The years passed in a blur of a montage of sights and sounds bookmarked by the protagonist waiting in the wings.

He stepped out for a duel.

He was just like you. Soft, safe, ambitious. Except for his stony eyes.

With this debut, His ripples spread around you, pulling, tugging, pushing.

You could feel them in the darkest of nights, never relenting until they reached their goal.

The blood bath began onstage. Strike! Curse! Resist! Alas, He became You.

Abandoned, dark, and silent, the stage sat empty and unable to recover.

Shabby trees grew in the lobby, fed only by the squares of light that escaped through rusted tin tiles.

You asked yourself, "How long can something degrade until it is lost forever?"

No answer came, and none ever did.

Year-after-year the pain multiplied ten-fold.

Children explored the place, speculating about its former state.

Yet, imaginations failed to conjure such grandeur.

Your broken pieces dashed inside of you, trying to escape the pain of destruction that never releases.

In the midst of darkness, She saw the grandeur.

This simple handshake was an acknowledgement of the deserted theatre of your psyche.

It was as if she ventured into the lobby, unafraid.

Her bated breath escaped to mix with tiny ice crystals in the air.

The worn banister ached at the cool touch of her reverent fingers.

Each step was tentative:  she took care around the broken steps.

She removed the heavy curtains and wrapped them around the whole sun.

Not even the beating wings of hunched bats caused her to cower as they fled from one dissolved beam to the next.

This long-awaited life began to throb in the hallways.

Finally, He caught her looking into his spot in the balcony. And She caught his attention forever.

His imploring eyes would meet her gaze.

Throughout the day, and in passing, their gaze held.

"I'm looking at you again." His eyes seemed to say to Hers in unison.

"We do this a lot." Her eyes sparkled to his, again in unison.

"Part of me, dare I say, is enjoying this."

"Likewise. Though, people may notice our glances."

"Even She."

"There is a She?"

"Yes."

"I've met her.  We are equals, I am like Her, but instead I desired your sadness. She does not."

"For this reason, You and I should be together."

"But not forever."

"Not forever."

"Not never."

"Not ever."

Today started at 5:30 AM, and ended at 10:45 PM.
I swear, I laughed nonstop from school to sleep.
83 degrees today, and it already feels like the drab curtain of winter has been lifted to unveil three weeks of a wonderful, nostalgic breeze.
School's over in 36 days. I'm not going back next year, but to classes closer to my house, instead of in Glendale.
This changes my perspective on things.
I now take pictures of everything, talk to everyone I meet in the halls, and laugh at as much as I can.
Even Mrs. Griepp, the mean and crabby study hall monitor, gave me a big hug. I barely know the lady, but she knows me, and said I was "so nice." She was disappointed at the news of my plans for school next year.
It only adds to the grim situation. I'll be uprooting and leaving ALL of my friends from school. We are all, only separated by 25 minutes' drive-time, but I'll probably never see them again.
Today at TCBS, I felt like I really connected with my friends. The dwindling attendance has forced us to accept each other. The last class is in three weeks; time moves so fast.

Adversity

For me, this word conjures up images of civil rights and is a frequent buzz-word interjected by bleeding heart liberals. But think about it.
Teenagers suffer under-the-surface every day by struggling to maintain a specific persona. This goes beyond the confines of school and into their home and social life.
What makes homeschoolers exempt from experiencing this?
Nothing.
Speaking on my own behalf, I feel more acceptance from my public school friends, than by my fellow homeschoolers. (I suppose it's just second-nature for anyone to feel accepted by people whom they're not constantly surrounded.)
Which leads to my next question:
I'd really like to know what public schoolers think of us. Are we the same? Are we any less smart?
On a different note, has education become more than a privilege to learn? Has it become the basis of one's social status?
Of course. It's not going to change, and I'm fine with that.