Dearest,

Walking, as she now did, round and round her school; thirty minutes to spare in the middle of an increasingly indifferent day.  She observed (she was known to do this for excruciating amounts of time) as the students milling around her talked with friends, and generally enjoyed their self-consumed lives.  She smiled to herself as she passes the nice guy from her photography class, for he was surrounded by a gaggle of young women who appeared to all believe he was the most admirable guy on the planet.  She then swiftly passed the group of five or so who constantly radiate ease and comfort.  They stand out in a crowd; so at home they appear in any circumstance, nearly forcing everyone else into the awkward depths.  People walk, different speeds, different destinations; they pass her on all sides, a footfall reminder that she is alone, as she wished.  Passing the lockers now, she nears the book-borrower.  Talking, and locker searching, a young Johnny introduces himself. Nice young man, she thinks, walking away, wishing with all her might she was brave and courageous as those who endure hardships and are made to conquer the world they live in.  The bell rings, thirty minutes gone from the rest of her life, she walks to the classroom, passing the unknowns and the colors, the nice ones and the smart ones.  They all seem admirable to her, a mere mote, as she is; they know where they fit in.  Sitting, as she now did, tears sprang to her eyes, for she was the forgotten; all she had wished came true.