12 | crying

            // in the many possibilities, I was trying hard to conjugate the base; that's when I heard a whimpering sound— coming from a distance.

It's a loud wailing to disturb the whole hall. To be honest, it was irksome. It was really a crying of failing or just pretentious of another facade; I didn't know. Looked like a girl's paper was snatched when the time was over; ringing a bell.

Equivalencies are always there, she's told repeatedly it's the rule. Maybe she knew as well; it's hard luck to get another chance when she knew she should've been precise with her management skills. I didn't know if it's remorseful crying or just a facade of wailing; trying to melt the heart.

I only knew I was getting uncomfortable, with each passing moment— only one blaring sound was heard.

"Stop crying, stop crying."

"Why were you pretending? You didn't feel bad, you didn't get hurt, you don't need to always be like this." 

Suddenly it stopped, the sound of another whimsical grunts; I stopped toying with the pen. Maybe these tears are like raindrops, as much it washes all mud— it can't wash the whole mess.

A raindrop is supposed to give sooth; not when it turned out as a wreck, blowing every emotion. Still waiting one day, it won't need to be begged.

One day it won't be like this. The sky doesn't cry, nor the clouds— tears aren't a sign of anyone's emotion. It just tends to slip, just like the clouds. Clouds—no matter how they try, they know one day their fall was destined to be.

              Do they get happy? Do they feel content? Or it's always pleasing to others-(?) I don't know, do you know? //

. . .