I sit in the plastic chair at the ink and carving embedded desk. How long ago did all these people who have left their mark in front of me sit here in the very same place as me? What thoughts crept through the endless maze of their minds as they carved in their initials or spread a message of hate, watching the ink seep into the wood? What did they think as they stared out of the thin, rattling window? I listen to their long lost voices whispering around me as my eyes scan the desk. The voices of lost ghosts of the past merging with my thoughts. The impossible feat of all of time conversing at once.
I look out and watch the frost slowly consume the glass panes-freezing the whole world around me. Another world awaits out there, but for now it is nothing but merely a frozen picture and a dream held hostage by time. The voices in the background become nothing but a meditating buzz and hum-a silent echo in synchronization with the deep thud of my heartbeat.
Rolling grey hills stand like statues in the far distance-beyond the rooftops-honoring the times we could have roamed in the endless green fields, mist weaving it’s way in and out of them like our ghosts. Below, the ground is littered with a golden red haze of fluttering, skeletal leaves dancing in the hauntingly sweet wind. Eery lights watch from the windows of the school buildings gathered round the playground-shying away from the growing cold. Naked trees creak in the gnawing wind. All of this comes together like an orchestra to create a perfect harmony.
Snap. I’m back. Back into the reality of this classroom. This prison. I await the day I will be released from the captivity of time. Soon. From the cruel reality of the fact that all my days spent here are washed into one when I could have spent more time out there. Living. Learning. Breathing. Not wasting a second of appreciating the art around me.