I can see you, you know. You wander, aimless, through the fields behind my school. You search. For a ball? For a dog? For interesting shapes in the grass? A little speck of bright bright red amongst the sea of green. You seem so lost, they say. You seem so lonely. But my Red Haired Wanderer is not lost, he is happy. A smile dances about his lips, and his eyes hold the glaze of happyness one almost rarely sees. Why do we have to be busy to be happy? Why must our lives be measured in teaspoons, each one stacked away somewhere keeping us on course? Red Haired Wanderer, you know the truth to things. You are wise and young. You know people will never accept you, think you a fool or crazy or what have you, but you don't care. You wander. Happy and alone.
Red Haired Wanderer, I know your real name. It doesn't fit you. It's Ben. Ugly and boring, a life dolled out in inches.
Wanderer. R.H. Wanderer. I can't find a good name for you. Mabye you have no name. Things don't need names.
Good luck.
AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT
I feel like there is cement in my stomach. NO WAY am I going to school.
