12 years. 12 years of textbooks. 12 years of awkward. 12 years of hurt. 12 years of simply wasted time. What does this world want with me? All I am is a pawn in their universal chess game. They play me, move me, make my desisions. I am forced to think of my future. I am forced to keep a clear head. But what if my future could stay my future, and my now stay my now? What's the point of 12 years spent on the next 40? The next 40 of sameness, and sucurity, and stress, and sorrow. 12 + 4 = Security, but what's the fun in that?
I am who I choose to be, not what they make of me. I find my feet moving to the left. I am walking off their board.
"You'll regret this," they all say, with their colorless cheeks flabbing about their mouths.
But I shake my head.
I keep walking.
I don't want the money and sucurity that the universities might give me.
I don't want to solve the equation of 12+4.
I want to hit the white of the board.
I want to feel the rythem he plays.
I want to play sounds.
I want to write the letters.
I want to speak feeling.