Smile

"Smile though your heart is aching,

Smile even though it breaking.

Though there are clouds in the sky,

You'll get by.

If you'll smile through your pain and sorrow,

Smile and maybe tomorrow,

You'll see the sun come shining through,

Just for you."

"That song always makes me cry." Charlie said as she made the last turn into our driveway. She was, in fact, crying a little.
I noticed this as I discreetly glanced at her through the barely reflective glass. We had gotten into rather nasty fight earlier, and we were not necessarily "speaking". The car ride thus far had been silent other than the radio.We had agreed upon an oldies station before the fight, and were both now enjoying it even after the fight."That's a good song, you're right. Didn't Charlie Chaplain write it?" I ventured."It's not good- It's great. And ya. He did." She answered.

Misfortune

The old woman dragged her rucksack behind her. With each step, she released a soft groan, the kind that is unassuming and courteous. As she shuffled along you could see her soft, grey hair slowing falling from the bun she had so meticulously constructed. She was hard to spot, being only one of many, but still, it was her I watched as the mass of people staggered along. A young man unintentionally bumped her as he tried to locate his family, and did not notice that he was what finally uncreated her delicate bun of hair. As the soft strands fell about her face, she seemed to slow slightly. Almost as if she was considering a stop, so that she might refashion her hair.

Insanity

She entered her room. Silently.

She sat there. Silently.

She rocked back and forth. Silently.

She stared. Silently.

She swallowed her pills. Silently.

She spit out her pills. Silently.

She pulled at her hair. Silently.

She walked down the hall. Silently.

She sat in the chair. Silently.

Then all was silent.

Memory

I can remember a time when I was excited to learn, to study. It wasn't "fun", necessarily, but I derived joy from it. I would memorize, summarize, itinerize- make fun what was necessary.

Now, though, all I want to do is lay about, sleep, read, draw. I feel no incentive to study. I feel no joy after completing homework. At least, not that kind of joy. The joy I remember.

Is this what it is to grow up? If so, I want no part of it.