❝what a plot twist you were-❞
She was a Wattpad writer-she writes about him, to escape her small world with her disease- but what happened when she found herself trapped in his? He was her idol, but she didn't that he was a bookworm. He loves readin...
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"depression is an ocean, yet not the ones full of life and colour. My ocean is a million shades of grey the same as those old-fashioned photographs."
...
I twirled the pen between my hands for n time this day.
Sitting in the classroom was my salvation.
When I walk in here my mind is able to function, my stride grows longer and I can be who I really am.
For some, the classroom may be the place they are able to learn, to explore and be with friends who really understand them.
But not my case, the classroom was my second place I feel at peice. Especially if I got to sit near a window.
It's funny, Though the classroom walls are bare the windows are large. Everyone wants a window seat, to sit in the unsubdued light of the morning.
Today, the outside the sky is blue except for a few strands of stratus that trail like aeroplane trails. Whoever painted the walls in here must have had an imagination bypass, but then isn't that the education system all over?
Fill our minds with facts we can google instead of teaching us how to think, question facts, experiment and explore. It isn't the nineteen hundreds anymore, they aren't preparing us to clock in and out at factories.
Suddenly the school bell signalising the start of the first period rang., making me jump in fear.
Five minutes later, the door of the room opened, revealing professor Hannah.
The teacher walks in looking as inspired as a used tea bag and already I feel a daydream starting, a really good one. I don't care actually as long as I am in my own peice here.
She was a young woman in her thirties, slender, with vibrant black hair and a pleasant taste in fashion. She wore glasses, as usual, her hair was ina bun, and she was dressed in blue. She reached the front of the class greeting us and then moving once again to the topic about this, being our last year.
At the end of the day, I felt tired. It had been really long and exhausting trying to stay as far away as possible from over-excited people and especially avoiding at all costs to bump into people. Interacting with people always made me want to run or leave- their way of looking at me is just unacceptable.
Why they just couldn't accept that I suffer from some speech disorder?
Is it illegal to not have one.
This disorder always prevent me from forming correct speech sounds. And it make it more difficult for me to express their thoughts and feelings to others. That's why I choose to write.
