There I sit under that same tree. Watching everyone pass by laughing, joking, yelling, screaming. As they do so, I cover my ears with my hands, close my eyes and rest my forehead on my knees. Little do they know that their voices disturb my ears. That my thoughts all go in a jumble.
There they walk with their designer clothes and beliefs that they’re better than everyone else in some way.
Yes, I’m sitting by myself: book in hand, notebook and pen beside me, legs drawn up and leaning against the tree. I smile slightly to myself behind my dark veil of hair that can barely be seen under my hood. No, I’m not emo, goth or suicidal. I’m just different from everyone else…antisocial…secluded.
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